The  Library  of  French  Fiction 


EDITED  BY 

BARNET  J.  BEYER 


■TF-rr" 


[champagne! 


\BRITTANY/ 


JACOUOU 

THE  REBEL 

(Jacquou  le  Croquant) 

BY 

EUGENE  LE  ROY 


Translated  by 
ELEANOR  STIMSON  BROOKS 


P  MAINE  ^ 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  DUTTON.&, COMPANY. 

68i  Fii-TH  'Av^kvfx  '        ' ''  ' 


Copyright  1919, 
By  E.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 


All  Rights  Reserved 


*     •  • 


.••••••      •     • 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


THE 
LIBRARY  OF  FRENCH   FICTION 

A    SERIES    OF    NOVELS    ILLUSTRATING 

THE  LIFE  AND  MANNERS 

OF  FRANCE 

INTRODUCTORY    NOTE    ON    THE    PURPOSE 
AND  THE  SCOPE  OF  THE  SERIES 

We,  in  America,  are  only  just  beginning  to  learn  and 
to  appreciate  the  spirit  and  the  character  of  the  real 
France.  But  this  world  war  has  not  essentially  changed 
the  character  of  that  great  people ;  it  has  merely  brought 
to  the  fore  a  few  of  the  perennial  qualities  of  a  noble 
nation  undeservedly  condemned  by  the  unthinking  ele- 
ments of  the  world.  It  is  sad  to  think  that  the  military 
defeat  of  France,  when  in  the  throes  of  revolution,  by 
a  Germany  that  knew  no  ideal  but  military  force  should 
have  inspired  the  world  at  large,  excluding  a  handful 
of  intellectuals,  to  accept  the  dictum  of  that  country,  and 
neglect  and  misjudge  for  half  a  century  a  nation  that 
has  since  the  Renaissance  been  in  the  van  of  civilization. 
Fortunately  the  tide  has  turned:  we  know  better  now; 
but  France  has  paid  dearly  for  it:  in  winning  the  good 
opinion  of  the  world  she  has  lost  the  best  of  her  youth. 
Had  France  been  the  decadent  nation  that  her  detractors 
chose  to  make  her,  her  spirit  would  have  been  shattered 


^       '/u 


vi  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

in  this  war,  long  before  her  armies,  under  the  fierce 
onslaught  of  the  most  formidable  war  machine  the  world 
has  ever  known. 

However,  this  war  has  disclosed  to  the  world  merely 
the  larger  and  more  salient  traits  of  the  French  people — 
merely  such  of  the  sterner  traits  as  are  revealed  by  bat- 
tles well  fought  and  sacrifices  heroically  made.  But 
France  is  an  old  nation  that  has,  with  greater  care  than 
any  people  since  the  Athenians,  developed  distinctive 
institutions  and  a  unique  social  and  intellectual  life.  This 
life  is  complex,  manifold  and  subtle,  and  can  only  be 
fully  grasped  by  long  and  close  association.  For  those 
who  cannot  live  for  any  length  of  time  in  France  the 
nearest  approach  to  a  realization  of  French  life  and 
manners  must  be  through  her  literature,  particularly  the 
novel.  No  other  literary  form  mirrors  so  accurately  and 
gives  so  faithful  a  presentation  of  the  spirit  and  life 
of  the  people  as  the  contemporary  French  novel.  Indeed, 
through  it  we  can  trace  the  character  and  the  history 
of  the  French  people ;  for  it  is  permeated  with  the  ideas 
and  the  sentiments  representing  the  distinguishing  fea- 
tures of  the  nation,  and  undoubtedly  conveys  the  spirit 
and  the  traditions  of  the  people  far  more  effectively  than 
expository  books  or  books  of  travel.  The  works  of 
Balzac,  Flaubert,  Maupassant,  Zola  and  Daudet,  to  men- 
tion some  of  the  older  novelists,  bring  us  into  closer 
contact  with  the  real  France  than  any  historian  can 
possibly  hope  to  do.  This  is  likewise  true  of  present- 
day  France.  Nowhere  do  we  get  a  pro  founder  insight 
into  her  soul  than  in  the  works  of  her  leading  contem- 
porary novelists.  Her  novelists  have  given  complete  and 
telling  expression  to  French  life  in  all  its  phases  even  to 
the  extent  of  introducing  us  to  the  French  foyer,  their 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE  vii 

home-life,  which  is  so  jealously  guarded  that  none  but 
the  most  intimate  can  possibly  enter  therein. 

Her  fine  traditions,  her  eighteenth  century,  and,  above 
all,  her  great  Revolution  have  made  of  France  the  most 
tolerant  of  countries.  This  and  the  insistent  personality 
of  most  Frenchmen  have  caused  her  to  become  intensely 
individualized  as  a  nation.  To  understand  all  the  delicate 
nuances  of  the  French  character  we  must  go  to  her 
contemporary  novelists.  The  novel  is  so  characteristic 
an  expression  of  the  French  genius  that  every  doctrine, 
and  we  may  even  say  every  emotion,  has  found  an 
exponent  in  some  great  writer.  Anatole  France,  for 
example,  is  the  exponent  of  radicalism  and  of  ironic 
thought,  Maurice  Barres  of  nationalism,  Paul  Bourget 
of  clericalism,  Pierre  Loti  of  pure  emotion  and  Octave 
Mirbeau  of  down-trodden  and  suffering  humanity. 
These  writers  represent,  of  course,  a  great  deal  besides ; 
but  the  peculiar  flavor  of  their  work  depends  largely 
upon  their  individual  bias. 

The  French  fiction  known  to  the  general  novel-reading 
public  in  America  hitherto  has  been  limited  and  in  the 
case  of  contemporary  fiction  rather  misrepresentative. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  scope  of  the  present  series,  THE 
LIBRARY  OF  FRENCH  FICTION,  is  extremely 
broad,  including  books  treating  of  the  life  of  the  various 
provinces  as  well  as  of  the  life  of  Paris,  books  in  which 
all  the  types  of  men  and  women  peculiar  to  France, 
and  in  which  her  manifold  social  life  and  manners,  are 
depicted  in  a  masterly  fashion. 

In  general,  the  French  novelist  gives  us  a  frank  treat- 
ment of  life,  and  does  not  flinch  from  handling  its  cruder 
aspects.  But  the  French  novelist,  nevertheless,  treats  his 
material  delicately,  and  his  work  is  always  the  honest 


viii  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 

product  of  a  mature  mind,  intended  for  the  mature 
reader.  The  treatment  of  certain  hard  phases  of  Hfe 
or  of  certain  reahstic  situations  does  not  alarm  the 
reader,  as  his  intelligence  prompts  him  to  judge  the  work 
by  the  object  the  author  has  set.  before  himself  and  how 
near  he  has  come  to  attaining  it. 

THE  LIBRARY  OF  FRENCH  FICTION  is  a  care- 
fully chosen  series  of  works  by  the  leading  modern 
French  writers  of  all  schools.  The  selection  of  a  novel 
for  the  series  depended  first  and  foremost  upon  its 
artistic  merit,  but  the  editor  has  kept  constantly  in  mind 
also  the  effectiveness  of  its  presentation  of  some  inter- 
esting phase  of  the  life,  manners  and  character  of  the 
French  people  and  the  vividness  with  which  it  describes 
the  country  where  our  soldiers  were  lately  fighting.  The 
translations  are  of  unusual  quality,  special  attention  hav- 
ing been  paid  not  merely  to  the  accuracy  of  the  versions 
but  also  to  the  competence  and  distinction  of  the  style. 

It  may  perhaps  not  be  out  of  place  here  for  the  editor 
to  express  his  sincere  thanks  to  M.  Baldensperger, 
Professor  at  the  Sorbonne  and  Exchange-Professor  at 
Columbia  University,  to  Professor  F.  W.  Chandler  of 
the  University  of  Cincinnati,  and  to  his  friend  Mr.  A. 
Miller,  for  valuable  help  and  many  suggestions. 

Barnet  J.  Beyer. 

New  York, 
1 8  November,  191 8. 


CONTENTS 


Chapter       I i 

Chapter      II 43 

Chapter    III 83 

Chapter     IV 134 

Chapter      V 166 

Chapter     VI 226 

Chapter  VII 274 

Chapter  VIII 342 

Chapter    IX.       ........  389 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

Eugene  Le  Roy  was  born  in  1836  at  Hautefort, 
on  one  of  the  hills  of  Perigord,  the  region  used  as  a 
setting  for  Jacquou  the  Rebel  On  the  publication  of 
this  novel  in  1899,  Le  Roy  was  immediately  hailed 
as  an  excellent  story-teller  and  master  of  his  art.  The 
simplicity  and  sincerity  with  which  he  expresses  deep 
emotion,  and  his  distinctive  style  won  the  warm  ap- 
proval not  only  of  the  public,  but  also  of  his  fellow- 
craftsmen.  He  was  even  regarded  by  some  critics 
as  the  head  of  a  school  of  novelists  who  had  deter- 
mined to  tear  themselves  away  from  Paris  and  the 
life  of  the  metropolis,  in  order  to  devote  their  talent 
to  the  life  and  manners  of  the  provinces,  in  their 
opinion,  the  backbone  of  France. 

Of  the  five  volumes  of  which  Eugene  Le  Roy's  work 
consists,  Jacquou  the  Rebel  unquestionably  is  the  most 
important  because  of  its  high  literary  merit,  the  sin- 
cerity of  the  author  and  his  finely  discriminated  char- 
acterizations. Written  in  a  pithy  and  distinguished 
style,  with  just  some  occasional  touches  of  patois, 
which  give  it  local  color,  the  book  may  be  ranked  with 
the  best  novels  dealing  with  the  life  of  the  provinces. 

The  early  part  of  the  author's  life  was  spent  in 
the  army.    He  enlisted  in  the  cavalry,  fought  against 


xii  PREFATORY  NOTE 

Austria  with  the  Italians  in  1859,  and  was  again  a 
soldier  in  the  unhappy  Franco-Prussian  war  of  1870- 
1871,  where  he  learned  to  know  the  Germans  at  first 
hand.  Later,  he  led  a  quiet,  provincial  life  as  a  petty 
government  official  at  Bordeaux,  and  his  uneventful 
career  came  to  a  close  in  1907. 

B.  J.  B. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 


CHAPTER  I 

My  earliest  memory  goes  back  to  1815,  the  year 
when  the  foreigners  entered  Paris,  and  Napoleon, 
called  by  the  gentlefolk  of  the  Chateau  de  THerm  "the 
Corsican  Ogre,"  was  sent  across  the  sea  to  Saint 
Helena.  At  this  time  my  family  were  small  farmers 
at  Combenegre,  the  ill-famed  estate  of  the  Marquis 
of  Nansac,  on  the  borders  of  the  Forest  of  Barade, 
in  upper  Perigord.  It  was  Christmas  Eve.  Seated 
on  a  small  bench  in  a  corner  of  the  hearth  I  was 
awaiting  the  moment  of  departure  for  the  midnight 
mass  in  the  chapel  of  the  chateau,  and  I  thought  the 
time  would  never  come.  My  mother,  who  was  turn- 
ing her  distaff  of  hemp  before  the  fire,  was  with  dif- 
ficulty restraining  my  impatience  by  telling  me  stories. 
She  rose  at  last,  went  to  the  doorstep,  looked  at  the 
stars  and  came  back  at  once. 

"It's  time,"  she  said,  "come,  my  boy ;  let  me  arrange 
the  fire  for  our  return." 

And  having  quickly  hunted  up  in  the  bakehouse 
the  stump  of  a  nut-tree,  which  had  been  saved  for 


2  JACQI^QU'THE  REBEL 

this  very  purpose,  she  laid  it  over  the  fire-dogs  and 
arranged  it  with  fagots  and  chips. 

That  done,  she  wrapped  me  up  in  a  brown  woolen 
scarf,  which  she  knotted  behind  my  back,  pulled  my 
knitted  cap  over  my  ears,  and  slipped  some  hot  ashes 
into  my  sabots.  Finally,  having  taken  up  her  hood 
of  fustian,  she  lighted  the  lantern,  its  glass  blackened 
by  the  smoky  oil,  blew  out  the  old-fashioned  lamp 
which  hung  in  the  chimney,  and,  once  without,  bolted 
the  door  on  the  inside  with  a  twisted  key,  which  she 
then  hid  in  a  hole  in  the  wall. 

"Your  father  will  find  it  there,  if  only  he  comes 
back." 

The  night  was  overcast,  as  when  it  is  about  to  snow, 
the  cold  intense,  the  earth  frozen.  I  tram^ped  along 
by  my  mother,  who  held  my  hand,  urging  onward  my 
little  seven-year-old  legs  in  her  haste  to  arrive,  for 
she,  poor  woman,  measured  her  steps  by  mine. 

I  had  heard  our  neighbor,  Mion  of  Puymaigre,  say 
so  much  about  the  manger  which  was  arranged  each 
year  in  the  chapel  of  THerm  by  the  young  Nansac 
ladies  that  I  could  not  wait  to  see  what  she  had 
described.  Our  sabots  rang  out  on  the  hard  path 
which  was  only  faintly  marked  on  the  somber  heath 
and  but  feebly  lighted  by  the  lantern  my  mother 
carried.  After  we  had  walked  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
we  found  ourselves  entering  the  big  stony  road  called 
lou  Cami  ferrat,  that  is,  the  paved  road,  which  fol- 
lowed the  base  of  the  great  barren  slopes  of  the  Gril- 
liere  hills.     Far  away  on  the  hill-tops  and  along  the 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  3 

paths  one  could  see  like  dancing  will-o'-the-wisps  the 
lanterns  of  those  who  were  going  to  the  midnight 
mass,  or  the  lights  carried  by  boys  who  were  roving 
about  singing  the  ancient  song  of  our  ancestors  the 
Gaulois,  which  can  be  translated  thus  from  the  patois : 


We  have  come, 

We  have  come, 

To  the  gate  of  the  lords. 

Lady,  give  us  our  New  Year's  gift  of  mistletoe! 

If  your  daughter  is  grown 

We  ask  for  the  gift  of  mistletoe ! 

If  she  is  ready  to  choose  a  husband. 

Lady,  we  ask  for  mistletoe ! 

If  we  are  twenty  or  thirty, 

We  ask  for  the  gift  of  mistletoe! 

If  we  are  twenty  or  thirty,  able  to  take  a  wife. 

Lady,  give  us  the  gift  of  mistletoe!  .   .   . 


When  we  were  near  Puymaigre,  another  farm  be- 
longing to  the  chateau,  my  mother  put  her  hand  to 
her  mouth  and  shouted  loudly: 

"Ho,   Mion!" 

Mion  dashed  out  of  her  door  and  answered: 

"Wait  for  me,  Frangou." 

And  a  moment  after,  descending  slowly  by  a  bridle- 
path or  a  short  cut,  she  joined  us. 

"So  you  are  bringing  Jacquou!"  she  exclaimed,  on 
seeing  me. 

"Don't  talk  to  me  about  it!  He  wanted  to  go  so 
badly  that  it  gives  him  a  stomach-ache.  And  besides, 
our  Marti ssou  is  out :  I  could  not  leave  him  all  alone." 


4  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

'N  little  farther  on  we  left  the  road,  which  turned 
into  the  ancient  highway  from  Limoges  to  Bergerac, 
coming  from  the  forest.  We  followed  this  road  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  until  we  came  to  the  grand  avenue 
of  the  Chateau  de  I'Herm. 

This  avenue,  sixty  feet  wide,  of  which  no  trace  re- 
mains to-day,  had  two  rows  of  great  ancient  elms  on 
either  side.  It  was  paved  with  big  flagstones,  while 
a  short  grass  grew  up  in  the  side  alleys  where  it  was 
pleasant  to  walk  in  the  summer.  It  climbed  in  a 
straight  line  to  the  chateau,  planted  on  the  summit  of 
the  hill,  whose  pointed  roofs,  gables  and  tall  chimneys 
rose  black  against  the  gray  sky. 

While  we  were  climbing  up  with  others  we  had 
met  on  the  way,  it  began  to  snow  heavily,  so  that 
when  we  reached  the  top  we  were  quite  white;  and 
these  floating  flakes  made  the  good  wives  exclaim: 
*'Look  at  old  Father  Christmas  plucking  his  geese!" 
The  outer  door,  reinforced  by  great  nails  with  pointed 
heads  to  protect  it,  of  old,  from  the  blows  of  axes, 
was  wide  open  this  evening,  and  gave  access  to  the 
circular  enclosure,  bordered  by  a  wide  ditch,  in  the 
center  of  which  stood  the  chateau.  This  door  was 
pierced  through  a  crenelated  wall  defended  by  loop- 
holes which  has  now  been  destroyed,  and  under  the 
arch  that  led  into  the  inner  court  a  lantern  swung, 
lighting  the  entrance  and  the  bridge  flung  over  the 
moat. 

At  the  back  of  the  enclosure  of  strong  walls  and  to 
the  right  of  the  chateau  shone  the  lighted  windows  of 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  5 

the  chapel,  which  no  longer  exists.  My  mother  ex- 
tinguished her  lantern  and  we  entered. 

What  a  lot  of  lights!  In  the  choir  of  the  chapel 
the  old  stone  altar  shaped  like  a  tomb  was  adorned 
with  them,  and  they  had  just  finished  lighting  up  the 
manger,  made  of  greens,  in  the  large  embrasure  of  a 
window.  Having  crossed  themselves  with  holy  water, 
the  people  knelt  before  the  manger  and  prayed  to 
the  infant  Jesus,  lying  in  the  trough  on  straw  that 
glittered  like  gold,  between  a  pensive  ox  and  a  shaggy 
ass  who  was  lifting  his  head  to  pull  hay  out  of  a  little 
rack.  How  beautiful  it  was,  a  sort  of  recess  or  grotto, 
garnished  throughout  with  moss,  box  and  sweet- 
smelling  branches  of  fir.  In  the  light  softened  by  the 
dark  greens  the  Holy  Virgin,  in  a  blue  robe,  was 
seated  by  the  side  of  her  new-born  child,  while  St. 
Joseph,  standing  nearby  in  a  green  cloak,  seemed  to 
be  watching  over  all  with  a  tender  eye. 

At  a  little  distance  the  kneeling  shepherds,  accom- 
panied by  their  dogs,  their  crooks  bent  into  the  shape 
of  a  cross  in  their  hands,  adored  the  Holy  Child,  while 
quite  at  the  back  the  Three  Wise  Men  with  their  long 
beards,  guided  by  the  star  that  shone  suspended  from 
the  vault  of  branches,  were  arriving,  bearing  gifts. 

At  all  these  pretty  things,  I  and  the  others  who 
were  there  stared  greedily,  our  eyes  wide  with  aston- 
ishment. But  we  soon  had  to  leave  the  choir,  which 
was  reserved  for  the  gentlefolk,  for  the  bell  had  rung 
for  mass. 

These  latter  came  in  all  together,  as  if  in  proces- 


6  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

sion.  First,  the  old  Marquis,  dressed  in  the  ancient 
style  of  pre-Revolutionary  days,  with  knee-breeches, 
white  silk  stockings,  low  shoes  with  golden  buckles, 
a  coat  in  the  French  mode  of  brown  velvet  with 
buttons  of  chiseled  steel,  a  waistcoat  of  brocaded 
flowers,  cut  long,  and  a  powdered  wig  ending  in  a 
little  queue,  wound  about  with  a  black  ribbon,  which 
fell  over  the  collar  of  his  coat.  On  his  arm  was  his 
daughter-in-law,  the  Countess  of  Nansac,  a  stout  lady 
coifed  with  a  sort  of  shawl  twisted  about  her  head 
and  squeezed  into  a  dress  of  puce-colored  silk,  the 
girdle  of  which  came  almost  up  to  her  arms. 

Then  came  the  Count,  in  an  English  frock-coat 
and  tight  gray  trousers  with  straps,  leading  his  eldest 
daughter,  whose  hair  was  short  and  curly  like  a  little 
girl's,  although  she  was  quite  old  enough  to  be  mar- 
ried. After  them  came  a  young  boy  of  twelve  years, 
four  young  ladies  of  between  six  and  sixteen,  and  a 
governess  who  led  the  youngest  by  the  hand. 

All  this  company  filed  past,  covertly  watched  by 
the  timid  peasants,  and  took  their  places  at  the  pray- 
ing-desks drawn  up  in  the  choir. 

The  mass  began,  said  by  an  ancient  monk  of  St. 
Amand-de-Coly,  who  had  taken  up  his  home  in  the 
chateau,  finding  the  quarters  good,  and  served  by  the 
fair-haired  young  master  in  pretty,  low  pumps,  pan- 
taloons of  pale  gray,  and  a  little  black  velvet  jacket 
over  which  fell  a  small  embroidered  collar. 

When  the  time  came  for  communion,  the  country- 
women  put  on  their  veils  and  waited.     The  gentle- 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  7 

folk  did  not  disturb  themselves:  as  was  proper,  the 
chaplain  brought  them  the  Holy  Image  first.  All, 
those  who  were  of  sufficient  age  took  communion, 
except  the  old  Marquis,  who,  because  of  a  serious 
weakness  of  digestion,  so  the  chateau  people  said, 
could  never  fast  the  necessary  length  of  time.  But 
the  old  country  folk  laughed  at  this,  remembering  very 
well  that  before  the  Revolution  he  had  believed  neither 
in  God  nor  the  Devil,  nor  in  the  Adversary,  that  mys- 
terious being,  more  powerful  and  more  terrible  than 
the  Devil  himself. 

After  the  gentlefolk  had  finished  came  the  turn  of 
the  servants,  who  knelt  at  the  balustrade  that  enclosed 
the  choir,  at  their  head  M.  Laborie,  the  steward,  with 
his  hard  and,  at  the  same  time,  crafty  face.  Then 
came  the  good  wives,  veiled,  the  peasants,  the  small 
farmers  of  the  chateau,  the  day  laborers,  and  other 
countryfolk  like  ourselves.  It  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary for  all  those  who  were  under  the  authority  of 
the  nobility  to  take  communion  at  the  high  festivals; 
that  was  the  rule.  In  spite  of  this,  my  mother  did 
not  go  up  this  time;  they  reproached  her  roundly 
for  it  later.  At  the  end  of  mass  Dom  En j albert  placed 
his  golden  stole  on  the  corner  of  the  altar;  the  gate 
of  the  balustrade  was  opened,  and  we  all  entered  the 
choir  to  pray  before  the  manger.  First  we  sang  an 
ancient  carol,  intoned  by  the  chaplain,  after  which 
each  of  us  said  his  own  prayers.  All  this  kneeling 
group  gazed  piously  upon  the  little  rosy  flaxen-haired 
Jesus,  muttering  their  prayers,  when  lo,  all  at  once 


8  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

he  opened  his  arms,  moved  his  eyes,  turned  his  head, 
and  we  heard  the  faint  whimper  of  a  new-born 
babe  .    .    . 

Then  from  this  crowd  of  superstitious  peasants 
there  burst  a  soft  "Oh !"  of  astonishment  and  admira- 
tion. Certainly  most  of  these  good  folk  believed  on 
the  whole  that  there  had  been  some  sort  of  miracle, 
and  they  remained  motionless,  their  eyes  wide,  waiting 
hopefully  for  the  miracle  to  occur  again.  But  that 
was  all.  When  we  came  crowding  out,  everyone 
was  chattering,  comparing  impressions.  Some  insisted 
on  the  miracle,  others  were  in  doubt,  but  no  one  was 
really  incredulous.  My  mother  went  to  light  our  lan- 
tern at  the  kitchen,  the  open  door  of  which  blazed 
at  the  foot  of  the  tower  stairway.  What  a  kitchen! 
On  immense  fire-dogs  of  forged  iron  was  burning  a 
great  lire  of  six-foot  logs,  before  which  waS  roasting 
a  fat  turkey-cock,  stuffed  with  truffles,  which  smelled 
deliciously.  On  the  mantel  of  the  chimney  a  speciall}^ 
made  rack  carried  half  a  dozen  spits  with  small 
skewers  arranged  according  to  size.  Hanging  on 
boards  fastened  to  the  walls  saucepans  of  all  sizes 
shone  in  the  reflection  of  the  hearth,  above  enormous 
kettles  and  basins  of  the  color  of  pale  gold.  Molds 
in  red  copper  or  pewter  were  placed  on  little  tables, 
and  there  were  other  strangely-shaped  utensils,  whose 
use  we  could  not  guess.  On  the  long  heavy  table 
were  knives  arranged  on  a  napkin  according  to  size, 
and  wrought-iron  boxes  with  compartments  for  spices. 
There  were  two  grills  there  also,  one  loaded  with 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  9 

puddings,  the  other  with  pigs*  feet,  all  ready  to  be 
placed  on  the  spit,  which  a  scullery-maid  was  turning 
at  the  side  of  the  chimney.  There  were  also  on  this 
table  slices  of  cold  meat  and  patties,  pleasant  to  see 
in  their  golden  crust. 

Having  lighted  her  lantern,  my  mother  thanked 
those  who  were  there  and  bade  them  good-night.  But 
only  the  two  women  replied  to  her.  As  for  the  head 
cook,  who  was  marching  up  and  down  giving  them 
orders,  proud  as  a  turkey  in  his  white  vest  and  cotton 
cap,  he  did  not  deign  to  answer. 

When  we  had  crossed  the  bridge,  we  found  Mion 
of  Puymaigre  and  the  others  waiting  for  us  outside 
the  first  gate,  and  after  they  had  lighted  their  lanterns 
from  ours,  we  all  went  on  our  way. 

It  was  still  snowing,  "like  great  handfuls  of  goose- 
feathers,"  to  quote  the  good  wives,  and  the  snow  in 
which  our  sabots  plunged  was  already  a  foot  deep. 
Whenever  anyone  reached  his  road,  he  left  us  with  a 
"God  be  with  you!"  At  Puymaigre  Mion  went  off 
and  we  followed  our  path  alone.  That  snow  made 
me  very  tired  and,  in  quite  different  sorts  from  the 
way  I  felt  when  we  started  out,  I  had  to  be  dragged 
by  the  arm. 

"You're  tired,"  my  mother  said;  "ride  pick-a- 
back." ^ 

She  leaned  over  and  I  climbed  on  her  back,  encirling 
her  neck  with  my  little  arms,  while  she  pulled  my  legs 
in  front  of  her.     As  we  went  on,  I  questioned  her 


10  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

about  everything  I  had  seen,  especially  about  the  little 
Jesus. 

"Tell  me,  is  he  really  alive?" 

My  mother,  who  was  a  poor  ignorant  peasant,  so 
ignorant  that  she  did  not  even  understand  French, 
but  who  was  a  woman  of  good  native  sense,  made  me 
understand  that  if  he  had  moved  it  was  by  means  of 
some  mechanism. 

And  she  still  tramped  on,  slowly,  sinking  in  the  soft 
snow,  hoisting  me  up  with  a  shrug  of  her  hips  when 
I  had  slipped  down  a  little,  and  stopping  from  time 
to  time  to  knock  her  snow-clotted  sabots  against  a 
stone. 

A  keen  wind  had  risen,  whirling  about  the  still 
heavily  falling  flakes.  The  deserted  countryside  was 
quite  white;  the  slopes  seemed  as  if  covered  with  a 
great  melancholy  shroud,  like  those  placed  on  the 
coffins  of  the  dead  poor.  The  tormented  branches  of 
the  fantastically  shaped  chestnut  trees  stood  out  only 
as  white  lines.  The  bracken,  powdered  with  snow, 
was  bent  to  the  earth,  while  there  were  drifts  in  places 
on  the  stouter  heather  and  gorse.  A  deathly  silence 
lay  over  the  desolate  earth  and  we  did  not  even  hear 
my  mother's  footsteps,  muffled  as  they  were  by  the 
thick  snow.  But  as  we  reached  the  moor  of  Grand- 
Castang  a  churn-owl  flung  into  the  night  his  disagree- 
able cry,  which  made  us  shiver. 

My  mother  meanwhile  was  having  difficulty  follow- 
ing the  wretched  path,  which  was  lost  in  the  snow.  At 
times  she  missed  her  way  a  little,  then,  recognizing 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  11 

it,  came  back  swiftly,  guiding  herself  by  a  tree,  a  great 
clump  of  gorse,  or  a  pool  now  covered  with  ice.  As 
for  me,  cradled  by  the  motion,  I  ended  by  falling 
asleep  on  her  back,  despite  the  cold,  my  benumbed 
arms,  for  all  I  could  do,  unloosing  their  hold. 

"Hold  on  tight!"  she  said  to  me.  "In  a  moment 
we'll  be  home." 

In  spite  of  this,  I  was  hard  put  to  it  to  keep  awake, 
when  all  at  once,  a  hundred  steps  ahead  of  us,  there 
burst  out  a  prolonged  howling  that  went  through  my 
head  like  a  thousand  pins :  "Hou !  ou  .  .  .  ou  .  .  . 
ou  .  .  ."  and  I  saw  a  great  beast,  like  a  very  large 
dog  with  pointed  ears,  roaring,  his  muzzle  in  the  air. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  said  my  mother. 

And  giving  me  the  lantern,  she  took  off  her  sabots, 
seized  one  in  each  hand  and  marched  straight  at  the 
beast,  knocking  them  loudly  together.  I  ought  not 
to  admit  it,  but  I  dearly  wished  then  I  were  safe 
beside  her  in  the  warm  bed.  When  we  were  fifty 
feet  from  him,  the  wolf  bounded  off  over  the  moor; 
we  passed,  glancing  aside,  but  we  did  not  see  him. 
A  moment  later,  however,  the  same  sinister  howling 
arose  behind  us,  "Hou  .  .  .  ou  .  .  .  ou,"  and  this 
terrified  me  even  more,  for  it  seemed  as  if  the  wolf 
was  at  our  heels.  From  time  to  time  my  mother 
turned,  making  a  loud  noise  with  her  sabots,  to 
frighten  the  evil  beast  away;  but  if  this  kept  the  wolf 
from  approaching  too  closely,  it  did  not  prevent  him 
from  following  us  at  thirty  paces'  distance  right  up 
to  the  entrance  of  our  court.    Taking  the  key  from 


n  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

its  hiding-place — for  my  father  had  not  returned — 
my  mother  lifted  the  latch  on  the  inside  and  quickly 
closed  the  door  behind  us. 

Instead  of  the  good  fire  we  expected  to  find,  the 
stump  on  the  kitchen  fire-dogs  was  quite  black,  ex- 
tinguished. 

"Ah!"  cried  my  mother;  "that's  an  evil  omen.  Some 
misfortune  is  coming  to  us." 

Rummaging  in  the  ashes  with  a  twig,  she  found  a 
few  live  coals  on  which  she  flung  a  small  bundle  of 
kindling ;  and  this  presently  burst  into  flame  under  the 
wind  from  the  iron  pipe  she  put  in  her  mouth. 

When  I  was  a  little  warmer  and  had  forgotten  my 
fear  of  the  wolf,  I  said: 

"Mother,  I'm  hungry." 

"Poor  boy!  There's  nothing  good  here!"  she  ex- 
claimed, thinking  of  the  Christmas  Eve  feast  at  the 
chateau.  But  uncovering  a  pot,  she  added :  "Here's  a 
meal  ball  for  you." 

While  I  was  eating  this  corn  meal  ball,  kneaded  with 
water,  cooked  with  cabbage  leaves,  without  even  a 
scrap  of  lard  in  it,  and  quite  cold,  I  was  thinking  of 
all  those  good  things  which  I  had  glimpsed  in  the 
kitchen  of  the  chateau,  and  I  do  not  deny  that  it  made 
the  mique  seem  a  poor  affair,  as  indeed  it  was;  but 
ordinarily  I  did  not  notice  this.  Oh,  I  was  not  very 
gluttonous  in  my  thoughts.  I  did  not  crave  the  turkey 
with  truffles,  nor  the  patties,  but  only  one  of  those 
beautiful  shining  black  puddings.    .    .    . 

Why  should  there  be  so  many  good  things  up  there, 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  13 

more  than  were  needed ;  and  in  our  house  nothing  but 
poor,  cold  miques  left  over  from  the  day  before?  In 
my  childish  head  the  question  was  not  formed  very 
clearly,  but  all  the  same  it  seemed  to  me  that  there 
was  something  badly  arranged  about  this. 

*'You  must  go  to  bed,"  said  my  mother. 

She  took  me  on  her  knees  and  undressed  me  with 
one  turn  of  her  hand.  Once  in  bed  I  fell  asleep  with- 
out thinking  of  anything  more. 

When  I  awoke  next  morning  my  mother  was  stir- 
ring up  the  fire  under  the  pot  where  the  soup  was  cook- 
ing, and  my  father  was  sorting  on  the  table  the  birds 
he  had  caught  during  the  night  with  his  flat  stick.  As 
soon  as  I  was  up  I  went  over  to  watch  him.  He  had 
about  thirty  of  them,  big  and  little,  thrushes,  black- 
birds, chaffinches,  green  linnets,  goldfinches,  tomtits, 
and  even  a  poor  jay.  In  order  to  sell  them  better, 
my  father  was  putting  them  together  in  groups  of 
five  or  six  with  a  string  which  he  passed  through  their 
beaks.  When  he  had  finished,  he  put  all  these  poor 
little  creatures  in  his  haversack  and  hung  it  on  a  nail, 
out  of  the  way  of  the  cat.  Once  that  was  done,  my 
mother,  who  had  already  cut  the  loaf,  set  the  pot  boil- 
ing and  poured  the  soup  on  the  bread.  It  was  rather 
early,  about  eight  o'clock,  but  my  father  wished  to  go 
to  Montignac  to  sell  the  birds. 

Having  put  the  soup  tureen  on  the  table,  my  mother 
first  served  my  father  and  me,  then  herself,  and  we 
began  to  eat  heartily,  for  we  were  all  three  hungry, 


14  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

especially  my  father,  who  had  spent  almost  the  whole 
night  out  of  doors.  When  he  had  eaten  his  two  big 
plates  of  soup  and  drunk  some  thin,  sour  wine,  mixed 
in  with  the  left-over  bouillon,  my  mother  removed  the 
plates  of  brown  earthenware,  unhooked  the  earthen 
pot  from  the  pot-hook,  and  turned  out  over  the  heavy, 
gray  linen  cloth  some  smoking  hot  chestnuts.  They 
are  good,  blanched  chestnuts,  when  they  are  green; 
when  they  have  passed  through  the  dryer,  they  are  no 
longer  the  same.  But  what  is  to  be  done  ?  They  have 
to  be  eaten  dry  since  there  is  no  way  of  keeping  them 
always  green.  We  ate  them,  therefore,  just  the  same, 
with  a  few  slightly  scorched  beets  from  the  bottom  of 
the  pot,  sorting  out  for  the  chickens  those  that  were 
spoiled.  When  there  were  no  chestnuts  left,  my 
father  drank  a  full  glass  of  sour  wine,  wiped  his  lips 
with  the  back  of  his  hand,  and  got  up. 

**You  must  bring  me  back  a  pair  of  sabots,"  my 
mother  told  him.  "I  finished  mine  up  frightening  off 
that  wicked  beast  of  a  wolf." 

*T  will  bring  you  some,  but  only  if  I  sell  my  birds," 
replied  by  father,  *'for  otherwise  I  shall  not  have  a 
sou." 

And  picking  a  small  twig  from  the  broom,  he  fitted 
it  into  my  mother's  old  sabot  and  cut  it  off  at  just  the 
right  length.  That  done,  he  took  his  haversack,  put 
the  measure  in  it,  unhooked  his  gun  from  the  mantel- 
piece, and  went  out,  leaving  our  dog  behind  him, 
though  the  latter  wished  very  much  to  follow  him. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  15 

"You'd  get  lost  over  there  at  Montignac/*  said  my 
father. 

I  stayed  to  warm  myself  in  the  corner  of  the  fire- 
place, but  not  being  able  to  keep  still  for  long,  like  most 
small  boys,  I  soon  went  out  on  the  doorstep.  Snow 
had  been  falling  the  whole  night  through.  In  our 
court  it  lay  two  feet  deep,  so  that  it  had  been  neces- 
sary to  shovel  a  path  in  order  to  feed  the  animals  in 
the  barn.  Further  off,  over  by  the  forest,  the  country- 
side was  nothing  but  a  great  white  plain,  strewn  here 
and  there  with  great  clumps  of  gorse,  whose  dark 
green  still  showed  at  the  bottom.  On  the  slopes  the 
grayish  houses  were  smoking  softly  under  their  tiled, 
snow-laden  roofs.  Over  there  to  my  right  I  made  out 
the  Chateau  de  THerm,  its  black  towers  capped  with' 
a  white  wig,  like  the  old  Marquis  of  Nansac.  A 
league  before  me  the  heights  of  Tourtel,  their  naked 
trees  loaded  with  hoar-frost,  hid  the  massive  belfry 
of  Rouffignac,  the  bells  of  which  were  beginning  to 
toll,  calling  people  to  mass.  A  little  to  the  right,  a 
half  hour's  journey  away,  the  farm  of  Puymaigre, 
its  doors  tightly  shut,  seemed  to  slumber  on  a  flank  of 
the  slopes.  And  high  overhead,  in  the  leaden  sky, 
some  crows  were  flying  heavily,  cawing  as  they  went. 

Close  to  me,  along  the  wall  of  our  court,  a  robin 
redbreast  was  hopping,  on  a  great  pile  of  fagots, 
seeking  a  dried  bud  or  a  loach,  benumbed  in  a  crevice 
by  the  cold.  Under  the  shelter  of  the  cart  our  four 
hens  were  roosting  quietly.  The  weather  was  still 
severe;  a  keen  north  wind  drove  the  powdery  snow 


16  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

across  the  buried  countryside  and  stung  one's  face. 
I  came  back  again  quickly  to  sit  down  in  the  corner 
by  the  fire. 

''Shall  we  go  to  mass,  mother?"  I  asked. 

"No,  little  boy,  the  weather  is  too  bad,  and  besides 
we've  already  been  last  night." 

With  nothing  to  do,  I  grew  very  dull.  I  could  not 
go  out.  The  house,  low  and  dilapidated,  was  scarcely 
attractive.  It  had  but  one  room,  and  that  not  over 
large,  which  served  as  a  kitchen  and  a  general  living- 
room,  as  is  quite  common  in  all  the  old  farms  of  our 
part  of  the  country.  Besides,  you  could  hardly  see 
at  all  in  it,  for  it  had  but  one  small  window,  closed 
by  shutters,  without  glass,  so  that  when  they  were 
shut  in  bad  weather  the  light  only  crept  in  a  little 
above  the  door  and  through  the  low,  wide  chimney. 
In  addition,  the  unplastered  w^alls  were  dirty,  and  the 
floor  of  the  loft  all  blackened  by  smoke  ...  all  of 
which  did  not  help  you  to  see  more  clearly. 

In  a  corner,  touching  the  chimney,  was  the  big  bed 
of  rough  carpentry-work,  where  all  three  of  us  slept. 
And  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  on  pegs  driven  into  the 
wall,  there  hung  a  few  poor  garments.  On  the  op- 
posite side  stood  a  wretched  cabinet,  all  riddled  by 
worms,  from  which  a  drawer  was  missing,  and  one 
of  whose  rotted  legs  had  been  replaced  by  a  flat  stone. 
At  the  back  was  the  kneading-trough,  where  the  lump 
of  bread  was  kept.  Under  the  trough  was  a  tart-dish 
for  making  millas,  and  by  its  side  a  sack  of  wheat 
and  rye,  half  full,  placed  on  a  bit  of  board  to  protect 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  17 

it  from  the  dampness  of  the  earth.  At  the  entrance, 
close  by  the  door,  there  stood  a  miller's  ladder  which 
rose  to  the  trap-door  of  the  loft.  And  under  the  lad- 
der lay  the  stack  of  wood  for  the  day.  In  another 
corner  was  the  sink-stone,  the  hole  of  which  scarcely 
gave  out  any  heat  in  such  cold  weather,  and  in  the 
middle  a  wretched  table  with  two  benches.  From  the 
rafters  hung  sheaves  of  maize,  a  few  clusters  of  string, 
and  that  was  all.  The  house  had  formerly  been  paved 
with  small  stones,  but  half  of  them  had  disappeared, 
leaving  holes  where  one  walked  on  the  beaten  earth. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  speak  I  paid  scant  attention 
to  that,  having  been  born  and  brought  up  in  hovels 
like  this.  But  since  then  it  has  seemed  to  me  abomin- 
able that  Christians,  as  we  call  them,  should  have  to 
be  lodged  like  beasts. 

But  it  is  still  worse  when  there  is  a  large  family 
and  all  of  them — father,  mother,  boys  and  girls,  big 
and  little,  live  in  the  same  room,  crowded  into  two  or 
three  beds,  four  or  five  together,  in  sickness  and  in 
health.  That  is  neither  healthy  nor  proper.  Nor  is 
it  right  for  fathers  and  mothers  to  undress  before  their 
children,  or  sisters  before  their  brothers.  When  the 
children  are  older,  it  is  quite  impossible  for  them  to 
avoid  seeing  things  they  ought  not  to  see  and  discover 
secrets  of  which  they  should  be  ignorant. 

But  to  return:  my  mother,  seeing  me  quite  listless 
and  not  knowing  what  to  do,  cut  some  straight 
little  sticks  with  the  pruning  knife  and  gave  them 
to  me. 


18  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

"Here !  Make  some  little  ninepins  and  amuse  your- 
self with  them.*' 

I  made  the  ninepins  as  best  I  could  with  her  knife 
and,  when  I  had  finished,  set  them  up  and  began  to 
shoot  at  them  with  a  round  potato  for  a  ball. 

Gradually,  however,  this  mournful  Christmas  day 
was  drawing  to  a  close.  About  four  o'clock  my  father 
came  back  from  Montignac.  As  he  came  in  he  shook 
himself — the  snow  was  still  falling  and  he  was  quite 
white — and  set  his  gun  in  the  corner  of  the  hearth. 
Then  he  took  off  his  haversack  and  drew  from  it  a 
pair  of  yellow  sabots  of  alderwood,  tied  together  with 
a  stalk  of  vine.  He  set  them  on  the  ground.  My 
mother  slipped  her  foot  into  one  of  the  sabots  and 
said: 

"They  fit  me  very  well.  And  how  much  did  they 
cost  you?" 

"Twelve  sous  and  six  Hards'  worth  of  nails  to  tip 
them.  That  means  I  still  have  eleven  sous  and  two 
liards.    There  they  are !" 

My  mother  took  the  sous  and  went  to  put  them  in 
the  drawer  of  the  cabinet.  My  father  then  took  a 
tortillon  from  the  pocket  under  his  jacket  and  gave 
it  to  me.  I  kissed  him  and  began  to  eat  this  peasants' 
cake,  after  offering  a  piece  to  my  mother,  who  re- 
fused it : 

"No,  little  boy,  eat  it  yourself." 

Ah,  what  a  fine  cake  that  was !  Since  then  I  have 
tasted  prune  tarts,  and  once  even  some  marchpane, 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  19 

but  never  have  I  eaten  anything  better  than  that  first 
cake. 

My  father  watched  me  with  pleasure,  quite  joyful, 
poor  man,  because  I  was  pleased.  Then  he  rose  and 
went  to  fetch  from  the  drawer  of  the  cabinet  an  old 
rusty  hammer.  Coming  back  to  the  fire,  he  set  to 
work  nailing  the  sabots.  When  he  had  finished,  he 
took  the  straps  off  the  old  ones  and  put  them  on  the 
new  pair,  after  having  adjusted  them  to  fit  the  foot. 
Since  they  were  now  quite  ready,  my  mother  put 
them  on  at  once,  as  she  had  nothing  else  to  wear  on 
her  feet. 

After  that  she  took  down  from  the  pot-hook  the 
big  earthen  pot  in  which  we  cooked  the  pigs'  food. 
She  emptied  the  potatoes  into  the  tub  and  crushed 
them  with  the  hearth  shovel.  Then  she  mixed  with 
them  a  few  handfuls  of  red  wheat  flour.  When  she 
had  let  our  dog  eat  a  little  of  it,  she  carried  this  mash 
to  our  pig,  which,  quite  aware  of  the  hour,  was  com- 
plaining loudly,  shoving  her  snout  under  the  door  of 
her  sty. 

It  soon  grew  dark.  The  lantern  was  lit,  and  when 
my  mother  had  finished  with  the  pig,  she  uncovered 
the  pot  in  which  a  mess  of  potatoes  was  cooking  for 
our  supper.  She  tasted  it  and  added  a  few  grains  of 
salt.  Then  she  put  on  the  table  three  plates  and  three 
slightly  rusted  iron  spoons.  There  were  only  two 
goblets,  for  the  simple  reason  that  we  had  no  more. 
I  drank  out  of  hers.    After  this  she  went  down  into 


20  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

the  little  cellar  next  to  the  house  to  draw  some  wine. 
When  she  came  back  she  put  the  pot  on  the  table. 

Meanwhile,  my  father  had  returned  from  the  bam 
where  he  had  been  to  look  after  the  oxen.  He  took 
out  of  the  kneading-trough  a  great  flat  loaf  made  of 
mixed  wheat,  rye,  barley  and  grated  potatoes.  He 
made  a  cross  on  the  bottom  with  the  point  of  his 
knife  and  set  to  work  to  cut  into  it.  But  it  was  a 
hard  task.  This  loaf  was  the  last  of  the  batch  baked 
nearly  a  month  before,  so  it  was  hard  as  the  devil, 
a  little  frozen  perhaps,  and  it  squeaked  under  the 
knife,  which  my  father  had  great  difficulty  in  forcing 
into  it.  Finally,  he  succeeded  by  main  strength,  but 
in  separating  the  portions  he  saw  that  here  and  there 
were  spots  of  green  mold. 

"What  a  fine  piece  of  bad  luck!"  he  cried. 

They  say  "wheat  a  year  old,  flour  a  month  old, 
bread  a  day  old."  But  this  proverb  did  not  describe 
our  ways.  We  always  awaited  the  harvest  with  im- 
patience, fortunate  if  we  could  keep  going  till  then 
without  borrowing  some  measures  of  rye  or  of  bar- 
leycorn. As  for  bread,  we  never  ate  it  fresh,  we 
should  have  eaten  too  much  of  it. 

If  my  father  was  so  much  disturbed  over  a  bit  of 
wasted  bread,  it  was  because  in  the  old  days  among 
the  poor  they  were  very  sparing  of  it.  For  those  who 
lived  in  great  part  on  chestnuts,  potatoes  and  boi-cd 
corn  meal,  bread,  even  when  quite  dark  and  hard 
and  coarse,  was  a  precious  food.  Besides,  the  people 
remembered  the  oft-repeated  sayings  of  former  days, 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  «1 

and  had  heard  their  elders  speak  of  those  famines  in 
which  the  peasants  ate  the  grass  along  the  roads  like 
animals.  They  themselves  felt  keenly  their  good  for- 
tune in  possessing  this  Hfe-saving  bread.  For  the 
peasant,  too,  there  was  something  sacred  about  bread 
obtained  with  so  much  effort  and  trouble;  wherefore 
these  incessant  exhortations  to  little  boys  not  to  squan- 
der it. 

My  father  remained  for  a  time  quite  out  of  humor, 
looking  fixedly  at  the  spoiled  bread;  but  what  was  to 
be  done?  So  he  cut  three  slices,  regretfully  taking  out 
the  mildewed  portion  and  throwing  it  to  our  dog. 
Then  we  sat  down  to  supper.  There  was  not  much 
difference  between  our  stew  and  the  pig's  mash !  They 
both  consisted  of  potatoes  cooked  in  water,  only  in 
our  food  there  was  a  little  rancid  fat,  of  the  size  of 
a  nut,  and  some  salt. 

With  such  a  supper  one  does  not  linger  at  table. 
We  stayed  there,  however,  a  long  time,  for  it  took 
good  teeth  to  chew  this  bread,  which  was  as  hard 
as  a  stone.  As  soon  as  we  had  finished,  my  mother 
led  me  outside  and  then  put  me  to  bed. 

This  bad,  snowy  weather  lasted  a  fortnight,  which 
seemed  very  long  to  me.  There  is  nothing  pleasant 
about  being  shut  up  for  a  whole  long  day  in  a  dark, 
cold  house  Hke  ours.  In  good  weather  it  does  well 
enough.  You  are  out  of  doors  in  the  sun  all  day 
and  scarcely  enter  the  house  except  at  night  to  eat 
and  sleep.  So  you  have  not  time  to  be  troubled  by 
it.     But  if  I  put  my  nose  out  of  doors  in  this  bad 


22  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

weather  I  saw  nothing  but  snow,  always  snow.  No 
one  was  in  the  fields,  the  men  were  in  the  chimney- 
corners,  the  animals  bedded  on  straw  in  the  warm 
stables.  This  melancholy  solitude,  this  dead  land- 
scape, without  sound,  without  movement,  made  me 
shiver  quite  as  much  as  did  the  cold.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  we  were  separated  from  the  world.  And  so 
in  truth  we  were,  in  this  desolate  spot,  with  more 
than  two  feet  of  snow  everywhere  and  at  times  a 
heavy  fog  rising  to  our  very  door. 

Nevertheless,  in  the  morning  when  my  father  had 
fed  the  oxen  and  the  sheep,  he  would  take  his  gun 
and  go  out  with  our  dog  on  the  trail  of  a  rabbit.  On 
these  days  he  used  to  kill  five  or  six  of  them,  for  he 
was  a  skillful  hunter  and  the  dog  a  good  dog.  This 
was  fortunate,  as  we  had  nothing  in  our  house  save 
the  eleven  and  a  half  sous  brought  back  on  Christmas 
day.  But  to  sell  his  game  he  had  to  go  a  long  dis- 
tance and  secretly,  to  Thenon,  Bugue,  Montignac, 
with  his  haversack  under  his  blouse,  because  of  our 
gentlefolk  of  Nansac,  who  were  very  jealous  of  their 
game.  These  few  hares  put  a  little  money  in  the 
drawer  of  the  cabinet,  although  they  were  sold  very 
cheaply.  He  could  not  think  of  selling  them  in  the 
general  market,  but  offered  them  to  the  innkeepers, 
who  made  the  most  of  their  opportunity,  and  for  a 
hare  weighing  six  or  seven  pounds  paid  about  twenty- 
five  sous.  During  the  day,  when  he  happened  to  be 
at  home,  my  father  made  baskets  of  white  osier, 
)rokes  for  the  oxen  from  the  creepers,  wooden  cages 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  «8 

and  other  bits  of  similar  handiwork,  in  order  to  earn 
a  few  pennies.  It  amused  me  a  little  to  watch  him 
and  to  try  to  weave  a  basket  as  he  did. 

Although  our  bread  was  black  and  very  hard,  we 
had  finished  it  even  before  the  snow  melted.  As  the 
miller  of  Bramefont  could  not  come  to  bring  us  our 
ground  grain,  we  were  not  able  to  bake  again.  So 
we  were  forced  to  borrow  a  loaf  from  Mion  of  Puy- 
maigre,  who  lent  it  to  us  gladly,  for  she  was  a  good 
woman  if  at  times  she  did  dust  the  backs  of  her  boys 
very  hard  when  they  had  been  naughty. 

I  might  mention  in  passing  that  this  loaf  was  never 
returned  to  Mion.  Custom  demanded  that  the  bor- 
rower of  bread  should  not  return  it  himself;  it  was 
the  lender  who  should  come  after  it,  pretending  to 
have  need  of  it.  But  Mion,  seeing  us  later  in  trouble 
and  misfortune,  never  came  to  ask  for  it. 

At  last  the  thaw  began.  The  gray,  soaked  earth 
reappeared,  and  showed  the  green  blades  of  wheat 
pricking  through  the  furrows.  When  the  ground  had 
dried  a  little,  my  mother  took  out  the  sheep,  for  the 
leaves  we  had  gathered  for  the  winter  had  been  eaten 
and  our  small  stock  of  late  hay  was  almost  gone.  She 
took  me  with  her,  driving  our  animals  towards  the 
rocky  slopes  of  the  Grillieres,  where  there  grew  a 
small,  fine  grass  which  they  greatly  liked.  It  was 
afternoon.  A  pale  wintry  sun  mournfully  lighted  the 
bare  earth.  A  little  wind  blew  at  moments,  cold  as 
the  snows  of  the  Auvergne  mountains  over  which  it 
had  passed.     But  compared  to  the  weather  of  the 


24  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

past  fortnight  it  was  a  fine  day.  My  mother  and  I 
sat  down,  sheltered  from  the  north  by  one  of  those 
great  heaps  of  stones  which  we  call  a  ''cheyrou."  She 
was  spinning,  and  I  was  amusing  myself  building 
little  houses  while  our  sheep  grazed  peacefully.  About 
three  o'clock,  just  as  I  was  biting  hard  on  a  piece  of 
bread  which  my  mother  had  brought,  our  sheep, 
frightened  by  a  dog,  came  galloping  up,  and  went  past 
us  with  a  great  noise. 

As  my  mother  got  up  to  fetch  them  back,  she  saw 
a  guard  of  I'Herm  called  Mascret,  who  called  out  to 
her  to  stop.  When  he  had  come  up  to  us,  he  told  her, 
without  any  form  of  greeting,  to  go  at  once  to  the 
chateau,  where  the  steward  wished  to  speak  with  her. 

"What  does  he  want  in  such  a  hurry?"  asked  my 
mother. 

"That  I  don't  know  at  all,  but  he'll  tell  you,  all 
right."     And  the  guard  went  off. 

We  went  towards  the  sheep,  which  had  stopped  two 
hundred  feet  away,  still  watching  the  dog  that  had 
frightened  them.  Driving  them  before  us,  we  came 
back  to  Combenegre.  Then  my  mother  set  oirt  for 
I'Herm,  after  shutting  the  animals  up  in  the  stable. 

When  she  came  back  at  night  my  father  asked 
her: 

"And  what  did  he  want  with  you,  that  old  rogue?** 

"Ah,  what  didn't  he !  First,  he  wished  to  reproach 
me  for  not  having  taken  communion  Christmas  Ere, 
like  the  others,  and  you,  too,  who  were  not  even  at 
the  mass;  the  ladies  were  not  at  all  pleased  and 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  25 

charged  him  to  speak  of  it.  After  that,  he  told  me 
that  you  were  still  poaching,  in  consequence  of  which 
M.  le  Comte  was  no  longer  able  to  find  any  hares  near 
Combenegre,  and  he  warned  you  to  stop  or  to  get 
rid  of  oiir  dog.  Finally,  he  added  that  we  must  en- 
tirely change  our  conduct,  otherwise  the  gentlefolk 
would  turn  us  out.'' 

"It  wouldn't  be  hard  to  find  another  farm  as  bad 
as  this !"  cried  my  father.  "And  he  said  nothing  else 
to  you?'' 

"Oh,  yes.  Always  the  same  tale :  that  he  had  noth- 
ing to  do  wuth  all  this,  that  he  only  did  as  he  was 
told.  On  the  contrary  he  felt  great  interest  in  us, 
and  if  I  would  listen  to  him  everything  would  be 
arranged ;  he  would  put  us  on  the  farm  of  the  Fages, 
which  was  good,  and  in  addition  he  would  give  you 
wood  to  cut  in  the  forest  every  winter,  which  would 
bring  you  in  a  little  money." 

"That's  it!  And  while  I  was  in  the  woods  he 
would  come  to  Fages  now  and  then  to  see  if  the 
cattle  were  prospering.  .  .  .  And  what  did  you 
answer  him?" 

"I  said  first  that,  as  for  the  communion,  we  had  not 
the  time  to  come  often  to  confession,  being  so  far 
away;  that  it  was  all  very  well  for  those  that  had 
the  time,  but  that  for  the  rest  of  us  it  was  enough 
to  go  to  confession  once  a  year.  *And  besides,'  I 
added,  'if  I  listened  to  you  I  could  not  even  take  com- 
munion at  Easter,  for  the  priest  would  not  give  me 
absolution.' " 


26  JACQUOU  THE  REBEI. 

''But,  you  silly  thing,  was  it  necessary  to  say  that 
to  him?  Ah,  the  scoundrel!"  cried  my  father,  "if  I 
should  ever  find  him  deep  in  the  forest,  there  between 
La  Granval  and  the  Cros-de-Mortier,  he  would  pass  a 
bad  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"Do  be  calm.  Some  misfortune  would  happen  to 
us,"  said  my  mother.  "You  know  well  enough  that 
as  to  that  business  there  is  no  danger." 

My  father  did  not  answer,  but  fell  to  watching  the 
fire.  At  that  time  I  did  not  understand  much  of  this 
conversation,  and  I  attributed  all  my  father's  anger 
to  the  warning  not  to  hunt.  I  was  well  aware,  because 
I  had  often  heard  it  said  in  our  house,  that  M.  Laborie 
was  a  hard  man,  exacting  and  unjust ;  that  he  cheated 
the  poor  as  much  as  he  could,  adding  a  golden  louis 
or  an  ecu  to  a  farmer's  bill,  stealing  five  sous  from  a 
miserable  day  laborer,  if  he  could  not  do  more.  And 
then  they  always  added  that  he  was  a  great  "chenas- 
sier,"  a  term  whose  meaning  was  unknown  to  me,  and 
which  I  thought  meant  something  like  "low  cur," 
but  that  was  all.  To-day,  when  I  think  of  this  scoun- 
drel, who  had  completely  taken  in  the  Countess  of 
Nansac,  pretending  to  be  pious — the  hypocrite — and 
who  was  a  thief,  a  villain  and  a  "chenassicr,"  as  peo- 
ple said,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  he  deserved  what 
happened  to  him. 

About  a  fortnight  after  this  conversation,  while  my 
mother  was  picking  beans  for  the  soup,  M.  Laborie 
came  to  Combenegre.     He  entered  and  said,  "Good 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  27 

ciay,  good  day,**  looking  at  me  askance,  and  asked 
where  my  father  was. 

"He  is  cutting  heather,*'  repHed  my  mother. 

*Toaching,  you  mean,"  he  retorted.  "And  these 
cattle,  are  they  thriving?" 

Saying  which,  he  went  off  to  the  barn.  My  mother 
took  my  hand  and  we  followed  him.  When  he  had 
seen  the  cattle,  M.  Laborie  drove  the  sheep  out  of  the 
stable,  and  as  he  watched  them,  murmured  between 
his  teeth,  thinking  that  I  did  not  notice, 

"Well,  now,  don't  you  want  to  be  reasonable? 
Come!  I  will  bring  you  a  pretty  headkerchief  from 
Perigueux;  what  do  you  say?'* 

As  my  mother  did  not  answer,  M.  Laborie,  turning 
and  moving  about,  went  off,  saying  still  in  the  same 
voice,  "You  will  be  sorry  for  it!  You  will  be  sorry 
for  it!** 

The  second  day  after,  while  we  were  eating  our 
soup,  towards  the  stroke  of  nine,  the  dog  growled 
under  the  table.  Suddenly  the  guard  Mascret  appeared 
and  halted  on  the  doorstep: 

"M.  Laborie  sends  you  word,  by  order  of  M.  le 
Comte,  that  you  must  get  rid  of  your  dog  at  once. 
If  it  is  found  here  again,  it  will  be  killed.'* 

"May  the  good  God  preserve  M.  le  Comte  and  him 
who  sends  you  from  ordering  that!"  said  my  father, 
clenching  his  fists  and  watching  Mascret,  his  eyes  full 
of  anger.  "You  had  better  have  nothing  to  do  with 
it,  or  there  will  be  trouble  !** 


28  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

''But  if  they  order  me  I  have  to  obey/'  said  the 
guard.  *ln  your  place  I  should  sell  the  dog.  M.  le 
Comte  says  that  according  to  the  ancient  law  a  peasant 
cannot  have  a  hunting  dog  which  is  not  ham-strung." 

''All  right,"  said  my  father,  "only  tell  them  what 
I  said." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  after  Mascret's  de- 
parture. Then  my  mother  said :  "My  poor  Martissou, 
the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  sell  the  dog,  as  the  guard 
says.  The  notary  of  Ladouze  has  asked  you  for  her 
several  times.  He  will  surely  give  you  four  or  per- 
haps five  ecus,  since  she  is  good  at  following  the 
hares." 

"I  do  not  want  to  sell  her,"  replied  my  father. 

"Then  take  her  to  your  cousin  at  Cendrieux ;  he  will 
keep  her  until  we  leave  here.  For  we  can  stay  here 
no  longer;  something  will  happen." 

"Wife,  you  are  right  this  time,"  said  my  father 
heavily.     "I  will  take  her  there  next  Sunday." 

On  Saturday,  as  my  father  was  fastening  up  the 
oxen  to  go  after  heather,  an  evil-faced  man  on  horse- 
back came  to  Combenegre,  entered  the  court  and  ad- 
dressed my  father. 

"Are  you  Martissou,  the  croquant,  the  farmer  of 
M.  de  Nansac?"  he  asked. 

"I  am." 

"Then  here  is  a  writ  of  dispossession  of  the  farm." 
And  he  held  out  a  paper  to  my  father,  who  took  it, 
tore  it  into  a  thousand  pieces,  and  flung  them  in  the 
bailiff's  face. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  29 

"You  will  pay  for  that!"  said  the  other,  laughing. 
And  he  took  himself  off  hastily,  for  my  father  had 
caught  up  his  goad  rather  brusquely  as  if  he  would 
rather  use  it  on  the  bailiff  than  drive  his  oxen  with  it. 

After  he  had  received  this  order  of  dispossession 
and  the  dog  was  at  Cendrieux,  my  mother  felt  easier 
in  her  mind.  It  would  be  a  matter  of  several  months, 
but  at  the  festival  of  St.  John  we  would  leave  this 
evil  farm  where  we  were  perishing  of  hunger.  Above 
all,  we  should  no  longer  be  exposed  to  any  treachery 
on  the  part  of  that  scoundrel  Laborie.  But  when  bad 
luck  is  on  the  way  it  has  to  arrive.  One  night  we 
heard  a  scratching  at  the  door,  accompanied  by  little 
yelps. 

**It's  the  dog,"  said  my  father,  going  to  open  the 
door.  "And  I  expressly  told  my  cousin  to  shut  her 
up  and  keep  her  fastened  for  several  days." 

The  dog  entered,  dragging  a  bit  of  cord  which  she 
had  cut  with  her  teeth,  and  leaped  after  my  father, 
yelping  with  delight.  My  mother  did  not  sleep  the 
rest  of  the  night,  worried  as  she  was  over  this  affair, 
and  feeling  the  approach  of  some  disaster.  In  the 
morning,  about  nine  o'clock,  we  were  eating  the  last 
of  the  soup,  when  all  of  a  sudden  the  dog  ran  out 
barking,  and,  a  second  after,  we  heard  the  sound  of 
a  gun.  Several  bullets  ricocheted  against  the  open 
door,  even  into  the  house.  One  of  them  cut  my 
mother  in  the  forehead,  which  made  her  cry  out. 
Thereupon  my  father  leaped  for  his  gun,  brushing 
aside  my  mother  who  sought  to  stop  him,  and  ran 


30  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

out.  Before  him  he  saw  the  dog,  lying  dead,  the  blood 
flowing  from  her  mouth,  and  at  the  entrance  of  the 
court,  Laborie,  who  was  handing  to  the  guard  the 
musket  he  had  just  fired. 

"Ah,  scoundrel!  You  will  bring  no  more  misery 
on  anybody!" 

And  before  anyone  could  think  of  saving  him,  he 
raised  his  gun  to  his  shoulder  and  stretched  him  out 
dead. 

Before  Mascret,  pale  and  himself  more  dead  than 
alive,  quite  knew  where  he  was,  my  mother  came  out 
crying  loudly, 

"Ah,  Martissou^  what  have  you  done?" 

"It's  he  that  will  have  to  tell  you,"  replied  my 
father.    "That  was  bound  to  happen." 

While  my  mother,  with  the  guard's  aid,  leaned 
Laborie  against  a  heap  of  heather  to  bring  him  relief, 
though  it  was  quite  useless,  my  father  went  into  the 
house,  took  his  shoes  and  his  great  worsted  cap,  slung 
his  haversack  over  his  shoulder,  placed  in  it  a  scrap 
of  bread,  his  powder-horn,  his  bag  of  corn,  embraced 
me,  went  out,  gun  in  hand,  and  made  off  towards  the 
forest. 

As  for  me,  I  went  out  too,  not  wishing  to  be  the 
only  one  left.  I  joined  my  mother,  who  was  looking 
piteously  at  that  sprawling  body.  There  it  was,  its 
eyes  fixed,  its  mouth  half -open  as  if  on  the  point  of 
crying  out,  the  arms  stretched  out  beside  the  body. 
It  was  plain  that  he  had  realized  he  was  dying.  The 
guard  had  opened  his  waistcoat  and  unbuttoned  his 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  81 

shirt  in  order  to  make  sure  of  it.  In  the  middle  of 
his  chest,  among  the  red  hairs  that  bristled  there,  the 
shot  had  almost  made  a  clean  hole,  and  the  wound, 
horrible  to  see,  was  bleeding. 

Meanwhile,  Mascret  was  running  towards  I'Herm, 
spreading  the  news  along  the  way,  so  that  presently 
the  people  began  to  arrive.  The  first  to  come  was  the 
husband  of  Mion  of  Puymaigre.  He  looked  tranquilly 
at  the  dead  man  and  said: 

"I  pity  Martissou  and  you  others  for  the  conse- 
quences ;  but  as  for  that  scoundrel  there,  I  have  no  pity 
for  him  at  all.  He  has  got  what  he  deserved  a  hun- 
dred times  over." 

And  all  those  who  came,  the  peasants  from  all  over 
the  neighborhood,  said  the  same  thing,  "He's  got  his 
deserts!"  Or,  sometimes,  "That's  one  ruffian  the 
less !"  and  other  remarks  of  that  kind.  But  soon  after, 
in  great  state,  the  Comte  de  Nansac  drew  up  on  horse- 
back, with  his  head  huntsman  and  Dom  Enj albert 
who,  not  being  any  too  good  a  horseman,  was  clinging 
to  the  saddle.  Everybody  fell  silent.  The  count  looked 
at  the  body  an  instant,  then  demanded  of  my  mother 
how  it  had  happened.  After  she  had  said  that  my 
father  had  fired  at  Laborie,  mad  with  rage  because 
he  had  wounded  her  and  killed  the  dog,  M.  de  Nansac 
glanced  at  the  poor  beast  stretched  out  in  the  middle 
of  the  court  and,  bringing  his  eyes  back  to  his  dead 
steward,  said  no  more.  Without  doubt,  he  understood 
quite  well  that  his  brutal  order  to  kill  our  dog  had 
brought  about  the  man's  death,  and  that  the  responsi- 


32  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

bility  of  that  death  lay  ultimately  on  him.  But  from 
his  face  one  could  have  told  nothing.  He  looked  at 
the  body  of  Laborie  coldly  as  he  would  have  looked 
at  a  wolf  brought  down  by  his  hounds.  At  the  end 
of  a  minute,  his  people  having  arrived,  he  gave  orders 
to  place  the  dead  man  on  a  litter,  which  they  had 
gone  for,  and  everyone  went  away. 

The  following  day  the  gendarmes  came  and  ques- 
tioned my  mother  about  the  manner  in  which  the 
affair  had  occurred.  They  filled  me  with  terror,  those 
gendarmes,  with  their  sabers  hanging  from  their  yel- 
low belts  and  their  muskets  fastened  to  their  saddles. 
It  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  them,  and  everything, 
from  their  heavy  boots  to  their  great  fringed  hats, 
made  them  appear  to  me  strangely  terrifying.  Con- 
sequently, as  long  as  they  were  there — the  one  on 
his  horse  on  the  bank,  interrogating  my  mother,  the 
other  standing,  leaning  on  his  saber — I  made  myself 
as  small  as  possible  in  a  corner.  After  she  had  told 
him  everything,  the  older  one  said: 

'That's  all  very  well,  but  now  tell  me  where  your 
husband  is." 

*T  don't  know,"  replied  my  mother,  "but  even  if  I 
did  know,  you  may  be  very  sure  I  shouldn't  tell  you." 

"You  may  have  to  smart  for  that!  Look  out! 
Come  now,  has  he  been  back  here  to-night?" 

"No." 

"Nevertheless,  we  have  been  positively  told  that  he 
has." 

"In  that  case  you  have  been  deceived." 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  33 

At  last,  after  having  pestered  my  mother  as  much 
as  they  could,  pressed  her  with  questions  in  the  hope 
that  she  would  contradict  herself,  and  having  tried  in 
vain  to  frighten  her,  the  gendarmes  went  away,  to 
my  great  satisfaction. 

About  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  a  charcoal-burner 
we  knew,  who  often  had  his  bread  and  soup  with  us, 
came  knocking  at  the  door.  My  mother,  dressing 
quickly,  opened  to  him,  after  he  had  made  himself 
known.  He  told  us  that  my  father  had  sent  him 
to  inquire  about  the  visit  of  the  gendarmes.  He  added 
that  otherwise  there  was  no  need  to  be  disturbed  about 
him,  for  he  was  lying  in  an  abandoned  hut  in  the 
thickest  part  of  the  wood,  in  a  bottom  full  of 
brambles  and  furze,  between  La  Foucaudie  and  Lac- 
Viel,  where  even  the  devil  could  not  find  him.  He 
only  needed  his  woolen  cloak  to  cover  him  at  night. 
Having  given  him  the  old  w^oolen  cloak  and  half  a 
loaf  of  bread,  my  mother  charged  the  charcoal-burner 
with  many  affectionate  greetings  for  her  husband. 
Then  he  set  out  on  his  return. 

During  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day,  the 
authorities  came  with  the  Comte  de  Nansac  and  the 
servants  of  the  chateau.  They  placed  Mascret  and 
another  man  on  the  spot  where  he  had  been  with 
Laborie,  and  another  on  the  spot  from  which  my 
father  had  fired.  Then  they  counted  the  steps  and 
moved  about  a  good  deal  in  the  court.  After  that  an 
evil-visaged  old  man  made  my  mother  relate  the  man- 
ner in  which  it  had  all  taken  place.     She  repeated 


34  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

what  she  had  said  the  evening  before  to  the  gen- 
darmes present  there  with  the  gentlemen,  to  the  effect 
that  it  was  in  a  burst  of  passion  at  seeing  her  wounded 
and  the  dog  dead,  that  my  father  had  fired  on 
Laborie. 

The  old  man  tried  to  make  her  admit  more  than 
she  actually  said,  but  she  knew  how  to  defend  her- 
self. When  she  had  finished,  he  tried  to  make  her 
confess  that  for  a  long  time  my  father  had  planned 
this  deed.  But  she  protested  that  it  was  not  so,  and 
stuck  to  what  she  had  said.  Then  the  old  man  who 
was  questioning  her  caught  sight  of  me  in  a  corner, 
and  made  a  sign  to  the  gendarme, 

*'Bring  me  that  child." 

When  I  stood  before  him  and  he  began  to  question 
me  with  a  stern  air  and  rough  voice,  I  realized  keenly, 
though  I  was  quite  young,  that  without  meaning  to 
I  might  let  slip  something  that  would  be  of  conse- 
quence to  my  father.  So,  to  avoid  this,  I  began  to 
wail  and  weep.  In  vain  the  gendarme  spoke  to  me 
in  French,  which  I  did  not  understand,  and  in  patois, 
which  he  spoke  in  the  dialect  of  Sarlat,  threatened  me 
with  prison,  and  showed  me  a  fifteen-sou  piece.  Noth- 
ing did  any  good.    I  answered  him  only  with  tears. 

Seeing  this  he  rose  up  angrily,  saying, 

"That  child  is  an  idiot!" 

And  they  went  out  of  the  house  door  and  awa}^ 
all  of  them.  A  few  days  later,  we  learned  that  the 
gendarmes  were  beating  the  forest,  along  with  the 
guards  of  the  chateau,  the  head  huntsman  and  the 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  35 

peasants  who  had  been  requisitioned  the  evening  be- 
fore. But  one  of  these  very  men  sought  out  Jean, 
the  charcoal-burner,  and  had  my  father  warned.  So, 
in  the  middle  of  the  dark  night,  he  went  to  hide  in 
this  man's  hayloft,  certain  that  no  one  would  come 
to  look  for  him  there.  And  sure  enough,  the  gen- 
darmes and  all  the  others  returned  at  night  without 
having  found  anything  but  a  lot  of  hares,  a  fox  and 
two  wolves  that  fled  away,  greatly  astonished  at  see- 
ing so  many  men  at  once. 

Two  days  later,  at  midnight,  my  mother  heard  a 
gentle  scratching  at  the  door,  and  went  to  open  it. 
As  for  me,  I  slept  and  awakened  only  when  my  father 
kissed  me  fervently  before  leaving.  My  mother  went 
out  with  glistening  eyes,  made  the  tour  of  the  walls 
and  came  back,  saying, 

"There  is  no  one  there." 

**FarewelI,  then,  wife,"  said  my  father,  and,  taking 
his  gun,  he  went  away. 

This  life  in  the  woods  lasted  several  weeks,  some- 
times in  one  place,  sometimes  in  another,  as  my 
father  almost  never  slept  two  nights  in  the  same  spot 
or  in  the  same  cabin.  The  men  of  the  lonely  houses 
in  the  villages  about  the  forest  knew  him  and  knew 
that  he  was  not  a  villain.  Laborie  was  so  much  de- 
tested in  the  region  that  everyone  understood  how, 
in  a  burst  of  rage,  my  father  had  done  this  deed.  No 
one  blamed  him  for  it.  Also,  although  many  people 
must  have  met  him,  as  they  were  going  very  early  in 
the  morning  to  cut  a  load  of  wood  in  the  thickets. 


S6  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

or  were  out  hunting  at  night  under  a  fine,  bright 
moon,  no  one  spoke  of  it.  On  the  contrary,  if  he 
needed  to  sell  a  hare,  or  have  something  carried  to 
Thenon  or  Rouffignac,  or  wanted  gunpowder,  corn 
or  a  pint  of  wine  in  his  flask,  they  would  do  his 
errand  for  him.  At  times,  even,  some  of  them  would 
say  to  him,  "Martissou,  come  and  have  supper  with 
us,  and  afterwards  you  shall  sleep  in  a  bed.  That 
will  rest  you,  for  you  have  not  been  used  to  a  bed 
for  so  long."  And  he  would  go,  knowing  that  he 
had  to  deal  with  honest  people. 

He  also  came  to  our  house,  but  not  often,  for  he 
suspected  that  they  were  watching  more  carefully  in 
that  quarter.  In  fact,  one  morning,  two  hours  before 
daybreak,  four  gendarmes  surrounded  the  house,  ex- 
pecting to  surprise  him.  But  they  got  nothing  for 
their  night's  ride.  Hardly  a  day  passed  without  Mas- 
cret  or  the  other  guards  coming  to  prowl  about  there. 
But  they  did  not  dare  to  spy  around  the  house  after 
sunset,  for  they  knew  it  would  not  be  a  good  thing 
to  meet  my  father.  I  am  sure  they  would  have  much 
preferred  to  turn  to  something  else,  but  the  count, 
who  was  cold  with  rage  at  the  knowledge  that  my 
father  was  still  at  liberty,  forced  them  to  it. 

My  mother,  poor  woman,  was  half  dead  with 
anxiety,  always  in  mortal  terror,  scarcely  eating  and 
almost  never  sleeping,  so  much  did  she  fear  that  her 
Martissou  would  be  caught.  She  said  that  it  must 
inevitably  happen  some  day,  for  to  hope  that  ill-luck 
or  sickness  or  some  traitor,  perhaps,   would  never 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  37 

bring  about  his  capture  was  simply  impossible.  And 
then  at  night,  in  her  feverish  thoughts,  she  saw  the 
Court  of  Assizes  and  the  guillotine,  and  would  lie 
groaning  for  hours.  If  she  fell  asleep  from  sheer 
fatigue,  she  still  dreamed  of  these  things,  and  would 
go  on  groaning. 

It  was  nearly  a  month  that  my  father  had  been  in 
the  woods  when  the  Comte  de  Nansac  sent  word  by 
his  guards  in  the  villages  and  about  the  forest  that 
he  would  give  two  golden  louis  to  anyone  who  would 
bring  about  his  capture.  Since  he  suspected  that  Jean 
the  charcoal-burner  often  saw  that  "scoundrel  Mar- 
tissou"  and  helped  him  to  keep  alive,  he  even  offered 
him  five. 

"Listen,  Mascret!"  replied  Jean  to  the  guard  who 
gave  him  this  message,  "I  do  not  know  where  Mar- 
tissou  is,  but  even  if  I  did  know,  not  for  five  or 
twenty  or  a  hundred  louis  would  I  betray  him.  Tell 
your  master  that,  and  do  not  come  talking  to  me  any 
more  of  such  a  rascally  business.'* 

Unfortunately,  everybody  was  not  as  reliable  as 
Jean,  and  it  is  not  surprising  that  among  all  the  good 
men  of  the  countryside  there  should  be  found  one 
rascal.  When  I  say  one,  that  does  not  mean  there 
were  no  people  thereabouts  capable  of  a  bad  deed  or 
who  had  committed  one;  that  would  be  to  refute  the 
saying  that  the  Barade  Forest  was  never  without 
wolves  or  thieves.  But  even  those  who  would  have 
robbed  on  the  highways  were  honest  after  their  own 


38  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

fashion.  To  rob  a  man  was  permissible,  but  to  betray 
him  for  money  was  not. 

But  at  last  the  traitor  appeared.  There  was  at 
Maurezies  a  poor  man  named  Jansou,  who  had  been 
working  for  a  whole  year  as  a  day  laborer  at  the 
Chateau  de  THerm.  This  Jansou  had  five  children, 
all  little,  the  eldest  only  nine  years  old,  who  lived 
with  their  mother  in  a  miserable  hovel  of  a  house, 
leased  for  two  ecus  a  year,  while  he  slept  through  the 
week  at  the  barn  where  he  was  employed.  Usually, 
he  only  came  to  Maurezies  on  Saturday  evenings  and 
went  back  to  work  Monday  mornings.  You  can  well 
imagine  that  with  the  twelve  sous  a  day  that  farm- 
workers earned  in  those  days,  he  was  hard  put  to  it 
to  get  bread  for  his  boys,  for  the  rye  was  dear  at 
that  time  as  well  as  the  barleycorn  and  rye  wheat. 
Of  white  wheat  there  was  no  use  talking,  for  only 
in  the  well-to-do  houses  was  it  eaten.  For  everything 
else  Jansou' s  boys  depended  on  charity;  they  were 
clothed  in  fragments  of  old  garments,  patched  all  over, 
in  wretched,  ragged  trousers,  which  showed  their  skin 
through  the  holes,  and  were  held  over  the  shoulder 
by  a  bit  of  string.  Their  feet  were  bare  the  whole 
year,  and  they  slept  in  a  corner  of  the  cabin  on  a 
wretched  mattress  stuffed  with  fern. 

By  order  of  the  count,  it  was  to  this  Jansou  that 
the  head  steward,  who  for  the  moment  replaced  La- 
borie,  addressed  himself.  At  first  the  poor  devil  made 
some  objections,  saying  that  he  did  not  know  where 
Martissou  was.    But  when  the  other  threatened  not  to 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  80 

give  him  any  more  work,  and  spoke  of  the  two  golden 
louis  which  he  could  easily  earn  by  having  his  oldest 
boy  spy  on  my  father,  he  agreed. 

This  boy  who,  as  I  have  just  said,  was  nine  years 
old,  was  sharp  as  a  weasel,  sly  as  a  fox  and  evil  as 
a  monkey.  In  addition,  he  knew  the  forest  as  one  must 
who  traversed  it  the  whole  year  long,  bird-nesting  or 
looking  for  whip-handles  in  the  holly  bushes,  or  doing 
errands  for  the  wood-cutters  and  charcoal-burners. 
Several  times  he  had  met  my  father  and  spied  upon 
him  with  malicious  curiosity,  but  without  being  able 
to  discover  his  regular  place  of  retreat.  This  was 
difficult  to  do,  for  as  I  have  said,  he  changed  it  often. 

It  was  close  to  carnival  time,  and,  although  we 
usually  made  merry  at  this  season,  my  mother 
watched  it  approach  now  in  fear,  for  she  well  knew 
that  her  Martissou  would  wish  to  spend  it  with  us 
and  dreaded  lest  they  should  take  advantage  of  the 
occasion  to  entrap  him.  So  she  sent  him  word  by 
Jean  not  to  come  that  evening,  saying  that  it  would 
be  better  to  wait  until  next  day.  She  knew  that  on 
Ash  Wednesday  they  would  suspect  nothing. 

Jansou  had  given  his  son  the  cue,  and  the  latter, 
with  the  idea  that  Martissou  would  want  to  celebrate 
the  carnival  at  his  own  house,  had  hidden  in  order 
to  spy  on  him,  that  Mardi-Gras  evening,  in  the  thicket 
near  the  crossroads  of  I'Homme  Mort.  Towards  night 
he  heard  him  coming  out  of  the  depths  of  the  woods, 
and  was  much  astonished  to  see  him  take  the  road 
to  La  Granval  instead  of  that  which  led  to  Combe- 


40  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

negre.  After  following  him  for  a  distance,  bare- 
footed, making  no  noise,  he  saw  him  enter  the  house 
to  which  he  had  been  invited.  It  was  the  home  of 
honest  folk,  comfortably  off,  farmers  in  the  family 
of  the  cure  of  Fanlac.  The  evening  before  the  wife, 
grieved  to  think  that  poor  Martissou  would  not  dare 
to  go  home  and  would  have  to  celebrate  the  carnival 
in  the  depths  of  the  forest  with  only  a  scrap  of  bread, 
had  got  her  husband  to  make  him  promise  to  come 
to  them. 

As  soon  as  the  door  was  closed,  the  boy  dashed  off 
to  tell  his  father,  who  in  turn  ran  to  the  chateau  to 
let  them  know  that  Martissou  was  at  the  house  of 
Le  Rey  of  La  Granval.  At  once  a  man  on  horseback 
set  off  hurriedly  to  tell  the  gendarmes,  who  left  their 
supper  and  came  in  great  haste.  A  hundred  steps 
from  La  Granval  they  gave  their  horses  to  Jansou, 
who  waited  for  them.  Very  quietly,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  the  guards  from  THerm,  they  surrounded 
the  house.  It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  at  night.  All 
those  present  had  feasted  well,  and  were  singing  and 
clinking  their  glasses  of  mulled  wine  when  two  gen- 
darmes pushed  the  door  open  brusquely  and  entered. 

You  can  imagine  the  amazement.  Everyone  cried 
out;  my  father  ran  for  his  gun  which  he  had  placed 
in  a  comer.  He  found,  however,  that  it  had  been 
carried  off  and  placed  on  a  bed ;  a  little  boy  had  wanted 
to  play  with  it.  So  he  sprang  towards  the  window, 
straddled  it,  in  spite  of  the  two  gendarmes  who  tried 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  41 

to  seize  him,  and  fell  into  the  hands  of  two  others 
who  were  guarding  the  window.  In  no  time  his  hands 
were  tied  behind  his  back,  while  Le  Rey's  wife  wept 
and  lamented,  crying  in  a  piteous  voice: 

"Oh,  my  poor  Martissou !  I  am  the  cause  of  it  all. 
Forgive  me,  I  thought  I  was  doing  right  !'* 

*'No,  no,  Catissou,  you  are  a  good  woman,  and  your 
family  are  honest  folk.  I  have  been  betrayed  by  some 
rascal.  Good-bye  to  all,  and  thank  you!"  he  cried, 
as  they  led  him  away. 

When  they  reached  the  spot  where  the  horses  were, 
my  father  saw  Jansou  holding  them. 

"Ah!"  he  cried,  "it  is  you  who  have  betrayed  me. 
Scoundrel!  If  I  ever  get  out  you'll  be  done  for,  for 
sure!" 

At  that  the  gendarmes  fastened  a  rope  to  my 
father's  neck,  and  one  of  them  took  the  other  end 
in  his  hand.  Then  they  put  the  prisoner  between  them, 
mounted  their  horses,  and  led  him  away. 

To  Jansou  this  villainy  brought  no  luck.  Once  he 
had  his  two  louis,  he  thought  himself  rich,  he  who  had 
never  seen  a  louis  before.  But  this  did  not  last  long, 
for  the  new  steward  of  the  chateau  put  small  farmers 
on  the  lands  usually  held  in  reserve,  so  that  there  was 
no  longer  any  work  for  him.  In  the  countryside  no 
one  cared  to  give  him  work,  on  account  of  his  wicked 
deed.  So,  when  he  and  his  family  had  quickly  eaten 
up  the  two  louis,  they  took  to  begging  and  disappeared. 
Even  to-day  in  those  places,  when  they  wish  to  speak 


42  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

of  a  man  they  cannot  trust,  they  call  him  "a  traitor 
like  Jansou."  Without  doubt,  he  was  a  scoundrel, 
but  in  my  opinion  those  who  by  threats  and  bribes 
caused  him  to  commit  this  villainy  were  a  hundred 
times  more  shameful  than  he. 


CHAPTER  II 

What  is  to  happen  will  happen.  On  learning  of 
the  arrest  of  her  husband,  my  mother  gave  a  deep 
groan,  almost  as  if  she  were  dying:  "O  my  poor  Mar- 
tissou !" 

I  began  to  cry.  All  day  both  of  us  were  in  the 
deepest  dejection.  She  sat  on  a  little  bench,  her  hands 
clasped  on  her  knees,  staring  fixedly  before  her,  with- 
out saying  a  word.  Now  and  then  some  thought  even 
more  deeply  painful  than  the  rest  made  her  groan 
aloud. 

"My  poor  husband,  what  will  become  of  you  ?" 

In  the  evening,  since  the  poor  woman  had  not 
thought  of  making  our  soup,  she  cut  me  a  slice  of 
bread,  which  I  ate  slowly.  Then  we  went  to  bed.  But 
we  were  not  at  the  end  of  our  troubles.  The  next 
morning,  the  head  steward  came  to  tell  my  mother 
that  as  she  could  not  now  manage  the  farm  alone 
any  longer  we  must  at  once  surrender  the  house  to  a 
successor.    The  work  was  already  two  months  behind. 

What  to  do,  where  to  go,  we  did  not  know.  After 
much  reflection,  my  mother  thought  of  a  man  at 
Saint-Geyrac  who  owned  a  long-abandoned  tile- 
works  in  the  forest,  where  we  might  perhaps  install 
ourselves,  if  he  was  willing.    Early  next  morning,  my 

43 


44  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

mother  threw  some  hay  down  from  the  loft,  gave  part 
of  it  to  the  oxen  and  left  a  pile  to  be  put  in  their 
manger  at  noon.  Then  she  tossed  a  little  grass  to  the 
sheep,  came  back  into  the  house,  cut  me  a  slice  of 
bread  for  the  day  and,  kissing  me,  went  off  to  see  the 
owner  of  the  tile-works,  charging  me  not  to  wander 
away. 

There  was  no  danger  of  that,  for  where  should  I 
have  gone?  Presently  I  went  out  of  the  house  and 
sat  down  on  a  stone  in  front  of  the  door.  There  I 
stayed  a  long  time,  thinking  of  my  poor  father  shut 
up  now  in  prison.  From  time  to  time  I  was  seized 
by  fits  of  sobbing.  What  a  sad  day  I  passed  there, 
before  me  the  bare  slopes  of  the  GrilHeres,  where  not 
a  single  tree  appeared;  all  around  the  buildings,  the 
farm  fields,  surrounded  by  great  gray  stretches  of 
country ;  beyond  to  the  north  and  west  the  deep  woods. 
At  moments,  weary  of  sitting  still  and  watching  this 
horizon,  misty  and  desolate  as  the  future  which  I  saw 
confusedly  in  my  childish  imagination,  I  got  up  and 
walked  around  the  house,  or  else  I  went  to  look  at 
the  oxen,  calmly  ruminating  on  their  straw,  which 
raised  their  heads  on  seeing  me  enter.  I  gave  them  a 
few  forkfuls  of  hay  and  came  back,  watching  far 
down  the  roads  to  see  if  my  mother  was  returning. 
In  their  stable  the  hungry  sheep  were  bleating.  From 
time  to  time  I  threw  them  a  small  handful  of  grass 
to  satisfy  their  impatience. 

I  sat  down,  looking  fixedly  at  the  spot  where  La- 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  45 

borie  had  fallen.  I  seemed  to  see  him  again,  with  his 
open  mouth,  his  terrified  eyes,  the  bleeding  wound 
in  his  chest.  About  five  o'clock  our  four  hens  came 
back  from  the  fields  where  they  had  been  foraging, 
and  after  preening  themselves  a  little  decided  to  mount 
one  by  one  the  little  ladder  of  their  hen-house.  The 
day  waned  and  I  began  to  be  anxious,  not  seeing  my 
mother.  Soon,  however,  my  ear,  accustomed  from 
my  out-of-door  life  to  hearing  things  far  away, 
caught  her  hurried  step  coming  from  the  direction  of 
the  setting  sun.  At  last  she  arrived,  worn  with 
fatigue,  out  of  breath,  for  because  of  me  she  had  come 
in  great  haste.  I  ran  to  meet  her,  and  she  embraced 
me  passionately,  as  if  she  had  thought  me  lost.  To- 
gether we  entered  the  dark  house. 

Fumbling  among  the  cinders  on  the  hearth,  my 
mother  found  a  live  ember,  and  succeeded  by  blowing 
hard  in  lighting  the  lantern.  Then,  having  made  the 
fire,  she  peeled  an  onion,  cut  it  into  small  pieces,  and 
placed  the  frying-pan  over  the  fire,  with  about  half  a 
spoonful  of  grease  in  it.  This  was  all  that  remained 
in  the  house.  When  the  onion  was  fried  she  filled 
the  pan  with  water,  cut  up  the  bread  in  the  soup- 
tureen,  and  when  the  water  had  boiled  down  enough 
poured  it  over  the  bread.  Ordinarily,  among  the  poor 
folk  of  our  region,  it  was  the  custom  to  put  a  pinch 
of  pepper  in  the  soup  to  give  it  a  little  savor.  But 
we  had  none  left.  I  cannot  say  that  this  poor  broth 
over  this  wretched  black  bread  made  a  good  dish. 


46  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

But  it  was  warm,  and  that  was  a  great  deal  better 
than  merely  dry  bread  or  a  cold  potato.  When  we 
had  eaten  our  soup,  we  went  to  bed. 

The  man  at  Saint-Geyrac  had  told  my  mother  that 
she  might  go  and  live  in  the  tile-works.  He  would 
ask  nothing,  but  the  house  was  in  bad  condition. 
Before  leaving,  we  had  to  get  a  man  to  decide  on 
the  value  of  the  leased  cattle  with  the  new  steward 
of  I'Herm.  When  the  estimate  was  made,  my  mother 
reckoned  that  there  were  ten  ecus  owing  us.  But  when 
she  went  to  have  it  settled,  it  was  found  to  be  the 
other  way  round.  We  ourselves  were  in  debt  forty 
francs,  the  other  steward  told  her.  Laborie  had 
charged  us  with  a  half-sack  of  wheat  of  which  my 
mother  had  no  knowledge.  He  had  not  written  down 
the  full  price  of  a  pig  which  we  had  sold  at  Thenon. 
Moreover,  he  had  failed  to  record  the  price  of  three 
sheep  which  my  father  had  remitted  to  him.  Thus 
we  had  to  leave  Combenegre  apparently  in  debt  to  the 
gentlefolk.  This  was  a  hard  blow  to  my  poor  mother. 
We  had  no  more  than  thirty  sous  in  the  house,  a 
hunch  of  bread  weighing  six  or  seven  pounds,  a  few 
potatoes  and  the  remains  of  a  sack  of  com  meal 
weighing  rather  more  than  four  pounds.  We  could 
not  last  very  long  with  that. 

Mion's  husband  came  the  next  day  with  his  cart  to 
take  away  our  belongings.  It  was  a  light  load  for  the 
oxen — our  miserable  bed,  the  wretched  cabinet,  the 
table  and  benches,  the  kneading-trough,  the  cask  of 
sour  wine,  a  pot,  the  kettle,  the  baking-dish,  the  frying- 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  47 

pan,  a  wooden  bucket  and  small  articles  like  the  lantern 
and  the  wooden  salt  holder.  All  these  wretched  be- 
longings together  were  not  worth  the  forty  francs  we 
were  supposed  to  owe  the  gentlefolk  of  Nansac, 
thanks  to  the  rascality  of  that  Laborie  who  wronged 
us  even  when  he  was  dead. 

The  cart  took  first  the  hard  road  which  leads 
towards  Lac-Viel,  a  stony  path  where  the  load  was 
much  shaken  up.  Mion's  husband  had  brought  hay 
to  feed  his  oxen,  and  my  mother  had  placed  me  on  it 
behind  the  cart,  which  she  followed.  As  we  went 
through  Bessedes,  two  women,  holding  their  little  boys 
by  the  hand,  and  an  old  man  seated  on  a  stump, 
watched  us  pass.  In  the  eyes  of  the  elders  there 
was  pity  at  seeing  us  go  off  like  that,  alone  and  father- 
less henceforth. 

All  this  region  to-day  is  full  of  paths  and  roads. 
They  have  built  one  from  Thenon  to  Rouffignac,  which 
skirts  the  forest  and  crosses  it  near  the  middle; 
another  which  cuts  it  diagonally,  coming  from  Fosse- 
magne  and  running  into  the  road  from  Thenon  near 
La  Cabane;  and  even  a  third,  further  to  the  west, 
which  comes  from  the  direction  of  Milhac-d'-Aube- 
roche,  and  also  joins  the  road  from  Thenon  to  Rouf- 
fignac, between  Balou  and  Meyrignac.  It  is  easy, 
therefore,  to  pass  through  the  forest.  But  in  the  days 
of  which  I  speak,  the  forest  was  much  larger  than  at 
present.  During  the  past  twenty-five  years,  a  great 
deal  of  it  has  been  cleared.  At  that  time  there  were 
no   well-marked   routes   except   two   wide   but  poor 


48  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

roads  skirting  the  edge,  in  which  the  water  cut  gullies 
in  winter  and  flooded  the  low  places,  and  the  paths  in 
the  woods  used  by  the  charcoal-burners  and  the 
poachers. 

Shortly  after  we  had  left  Bessedes,  Mion's  hus- 
band left  the  road  w^e  were  following  to  take  another. 
This  was  not  really  a  road  at  all  but  one  of  those 
tracks  made  in  the  wood  by  the  wheels  of  the  carts 
which  came  to  carry  off  the  chopped  logs.  In  winter, 
when  the  track  became  too  bad  in  places,  people 
turned  off  to  the  right  or  left  and  so  traced  new  paths 
in  all  directions,  uncertain  tracks  which  intercrossed 
on  the  heath  and  in  the  woods.  At  times,  we  found 
in  the  mudholes  puddles  of  yellow  water  which  we  had 
to  avoid,  and  further  on  deep  ruts  on  one  side  and 
hummocks  on  the  other  that  made  the  cart  tip  vio- 
lently and  gave  us  a  heavy  jolt  when  the  road  sud- 
denly became  smooth  again. 

We  went  slowly,  as  one  must  go  with  oxen  over 
such  roads.  The  day  was  gray  and  misty.  It  seemed 
as  if  we  were  burying  ourselves  in  the  fog.  Mion's 
husband  went  ahead,  calling  his  oxen,  encouraging 
them  with  his  voice  and  sometimes  pricking  them  with 
his  goad.  You  could  see  that  he  knew  the  forest 
well.  He  rarely  hesitated  in  taking  a  path  even  when 
it  cut  right  across  the  one  we  were  following,  or,  at 
first  insensibly  branching  off,  ended  by  turning  aside 
altogether.  When  these  half -effaced  tracks  inter- 
crossed, he  sometimes  stopped  a  moment,  and  looked 
about  him;  then  getting  his  bearings,  he  took  the  right 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  4d 

way  without  fail.  Yet  he  told  us  that  he  had  not  been 
to  the  tile-works  for  ten  years.  We  peasants,  accus- 
tomed to  travel  day  and  night  in  this  roadless  country, 
know  our  way  very  well  when  we  have  passed  over  it 
once. 

Some  of  my  readers  may  perhaps  wonder  why  I 
always  say  ''Mion's  husband."  It  is  because  I  had 
never  heard  him  called  anything  else  in  our  home.  I 
believe  his  wife  called  him  Pierre,  but  as  she  was  the 
man  of  the  family,  everyone  said  "M'ion's  husband." 

About  two  o'clock,  after  crossing  a  stretch  of  un- 
derbrush, the  cart  passed  out  into  a  great  clearing 
surrounded  by  woods.  In  the  center  was  the  tile- 
works,  or  what  remained  of  it.  From  a  distance  it 
seemed  to  consist  of  tumbled  roofs,  blackened  by  the 
weather,  but  from  nearby  it  looked  like  a  mass  of 
ruins.  The  dilapidated  outhouses  still  showed  some 
half-decayed  wooden  posts  supporting  a  part  of  the 
frame  with  the  remains  of  the  tile  covering  on  it; 
on  other  parts  beside  it,  the  broken  laths  had  let  the 
frame  sag.  The  oven  where  they  used  to  bake  the 
bricks  and  tiles  had  crumbled,  and  vigorous  maple 
shoots  were  pushing  out  amid  its  ruins.  The  house 
was  not  all  in  quite  such  bad  condition  but  a  little  more 
and  it  would  become  so.  It  was  built  of  wood,  brick 
and  loam,  plastered  together  with  heavy  clay.  The 
walls  were  crumbling  and  peeling  from  the  effects  of 
weather  and  winter,  ramshackle  like  those  poor  old 
souls  one  meets  in  our  part  of  the  country,  bent  and 
disfigured  with  poverty,  hard  work  and  age. 


50  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

Here  and  there  in  the  holes  and  chinks  of  the  wall 
had  sprouted  seeds  carried  by  the  wind,  wild  pur- 
slane, wall  artichokes,  harts-tongue  and  parsley  piert. 
The  tile-works  was  covered  with  moss,  sprinkled  with 
a  grass  as  line  as  needles,  with  a  few  tufts  of  house- 
leek  here  and  there.  It  still  held  together  except  at 
one  end,  where  it  was  in  ruins.  Through  this  great 
hole,  as  big  as  a  sheet,  rafters  were  visible,  held  up 
by  a  corner,  to  which  portions  of  laths  were  still 
nailed.  Around  the  house  and  the  tile-works  every- 
thing was  covered  with  fragments  of  tiles,  bricks  and 
heaps  of  rubbish,  on  which  were  growing  luxuriantly 
those  rustic  plants  that  abound  in  abandoned  places 
and  along  the  borders  of  old  roads  where  people  no 
longer  pass.  Thickly  and  exuberantly,  mints  with 
their  spicy  odor,  wild  carrots,  donkey's  cabbage,  night- 
shades, mallows,  thistles  with  the  round  heads  that 
we  call  "the  combs,"  and  twenty  other  varieties  were 
crowded  together.  Farther  on  in  the  clearing,  the 
clay-diggings  had  left  holes  where  greenish  water 
stagnated,  and  mounds  like  great  graves  on  which 
scanty  gorse  bushes,  rare  in  this  poor  soil,  had  grown 
here  and  there.  The  whole  scene  had  an  aspect  of 
ruin  and  desolation  which  oppressed  one's  heart.  One 
would  have  said  it  was  an  old  battlefield,  abandoned 
after  the  hurried  burying  of  the  dead. 

Taking  in  at  a  glance  the  whole  melancholy  spec- 
tacle, my  mother  gave  a  little  shiver,  a  triboulemenf, 
as  we  say,  and  her  eyes  turned  to  me.  But  she  was 
a  woman  of  great  courage,  and  she  entered  the  house 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  51 

with  a  firm  step.  I  followed  her,  while  Mion's  hus- 
band undid  the  cord  about  the  load. 

What  a  house !  That  at  Combenegre  was  very  bare, 
very  dark,  very  melancholy,  but  it  was  a  house  of 
comfort  compared  to  this.  When  the  door,  which 
hung  only  by  one  hinge,  was  pushed  open,  it  revealed 
itself  in  all  its  dilapidation.  Cracks  in  the  wall  let 
in  the  daylight  here  and  there,  or  gave  entrance  to 
a  plant  which  thrust  itself  in  from  outside.  The  hearth 
was  rudely  built  after  the  fashion  of  those  huts  that 
are  made  of  earth.  There  w^as  r  ">  attic.  Above,  in  a 
corner,  under  the  rafters,  rough  planks,  put  there  to 
dry  and  forgotten,  made  a  sort  of  badly  joined  ceiling, 
just  large  enough  to  shelter  a  bed.  Everywhere  else 
you  saw  the  tiled  roof  and,  in  the  uncovered  corner, 
the  sky.  Through  this  hole  the  winter  rains  had  made 
a  little  puddle  in  the  beaten  earth. 

Having  surveyed  all  this  without  speaking,  my 
mother  went  out  to  help  the  man  unload  the  furniture. 
To  do  this  more  easily,  he  slipped  between  the  oxen 
and  raised  the  wagon-pole  while  she  took  out  the  iron 
peg  which  passed  through  the  rings.  Then  she  called 
the  oxen.  The  man  gently  lowered  the  pole  to  the 
ground,  and  along  the  incline  it  made,  with  the  help 
of  my  mother,  easily  slid  down  the  bedstead  and  the 
rest  of  the  things.  Meanwhile,  I  carried  their  arm- 
ful of  hay  to  the  oxen.  When  everything  had  been 
put  in  the  house,  my  mother  drew  from  a  basket  the 
hunch  of  bread  that  was  folded  in  a  towel,  and  set 
it  on  the  table  with  the  salt-dish  and  an  onion  which 


52  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

she  took  from  a  little  drawer.  Then  she  started  to 
fill  the  picket  with  sour  wine,  but  the  little  that  re- 
mained in  the  cask  had  been  so  shaken  up  that  it  was 
like  mud.  So  she  went  out  to  look  for  water.  Mion's 
husband  wiped  his  forehead,  sat  down  on  the  bench, 
and  ate  slowly,  cutting  the  bread  in  shreds  and  munch- 
ing the  onion,  dipped  in  salt,  in  little  slices. 

When  he  had  finished  he  closed  his  knife,  drank 
half  a  goblet  of  water,  and  rose.  My  mother  helped 
him  fasten  up  the  oxen.  He  took  his  goad,  replied  to 
our  thanks  by  saying  it  was  nothing,  wished  us  good 
evening,  and  departed  slowly,  crossing  the  clearing 
and  disappearing  into  the  woods. 

When  we  were  alone,  my  mother  took  me  and  gave 
me  a  long  kiss,  clasping  me  tightly  against  her  breast. 
After  this  moment  of  grief  had  abated,  she  set  to  work 
to  make  the  bed,  and  finished  arranging  our  poor  fur- 
niture as  well  as  she  could.  When  that  was  done,  we 
went  out  to  look  for  wood.  There  was  plenty  of  it 
all  about,  and  soon  we  had  collected  a  good  pile. 
Under  the  sheds  there  were  carpenter's  chips  that 
served  us  equally  well.  But  it  was  not  an  easy  matter 
to  make  the  fire.  In  those  days  chemical  matches  were 
unknown,  at  least  in  our  part  of  the  country,  and 
ordinarily  we  preserved  the  fire  under  the  ashes. 
When  you  found  the  fire  out,  you  had  to  go  and  beg 
for  some  in  an  old  sabot.  The  neighbors  gave  with 
good  will  on  condition  that  they  might  have  the  same 
favor  done  to  them.  Only  the  innkeepers  in  the  small 
towns  would  refuse  it  on  festival  or  fair  days,  be- 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  53 

cause  it  brought  bad  luck.  Sometimes  one  had  to  go 
quite  far,  as  was  the  case  with  us  who  went  to  Mion 
of  Puymaigre;  but  here  we  knew  neither  the  country 
nor  the  neighbors.  Fortunately  in  the  drawer  of  the 
cabinet  there  were  some  flints  which  my  father  had 
picked  up  whenever  he  found  them,  and  shaped  ready 
for  use.  My  mother  took  one;  and  by  striking  it 
against  the  blade  of  her  shut  knife  she  managed  to 
set  fire  to  a  piece  of  old  shredded  rag.  This  bit,  put 
on  a  handful  of  dried  moss  that  had  been  gathered 
from  dead  wood,  set  it  on  fire,  and  soon  with  dead 
leaves,  grass  and  twigs,  and  by  dint  of  hard  blowing, 
the  flame  blazed  in  the  hearth. 

When  the  fire  had  been  lighted  we  had  to  go  after 
water.  Searching  in  the  neighborhood  we  found  the 
old  well  which  the  tile-makers  used.  To  tell  the  truth, 
it  was  a  miserable  well,  which  oozed  a  few  drops  in 
the  winter  and  in  the  summer  held  nothing  but  rain 
water.  It  scarcely  differed  from  the  hole  out  of  which 
my  mother  had  taken  the  drink  for  Mion's  husband, 
being  now  half -choked  and  full  of  rushes  growing  out 
of  the  pale  water.  It  was  impossible  to  draw  water 
out  with  the  bucket;  we  had  to  fill  it  with  the  dipper. 
Returning  to  our  hovel,  my  mother  filled  the  pot  with 
potatoes  and  put  it  over  the  fire  for  our  supper. 

That  evening,  when  we  had  eaten  two  or  three 
stewed  potatoes  with  a  little  salt  and  were  about  to  go 
to  bed,  my  mother  discovered  that  there  had  never 
been  a  lock  or  a  bolt  on  the  door.  It  was  closed  from 
within  after  the  ancient  manner,  by  means  of  a  bar 


54  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

which  entered  two  holes  on  either  side  of  the  wall 
and  so  held  the  door  fast.  Seeing  this,  my  mother 
cut  with  the  pruning-bill  a  piece  of  wood  of  the  right 
length,  adjusted  it  firmly,  and  so  closed  the  door  tight. 
Then  we  went  to  bed. 

I  am  sure  she  slept  little  that  night,  tormented  as 
she  was  by  the  thought  of  my  poor  father,  a 
prisoner  at  Perigueux,  where  the  guillotine  or  the  gal- 
leys awaited  him.  As  for  me,  not  understanding  all 
the  consequences  of  what  he  had  done,  I  watched  the 
stars  awhile,  those  at  least  which  I  could  see  from  the 
bed  through  the  hole  in  the  roofing,  and  then  fell  into 
a  heavy  sleep. 

In  addition  to  her  grief  about  my  father,  my  mother 
tormented  herself  thinking  of  me  and  of  what  was 
to  become  of  us.  The  rich,  when  they  are  in  trouble, 
can  reflect  at  their  ease  and  give  themselves  over 
entirely  to  their  grief,  but  the  poor  cannot.  Above  all, 
they  must  get  their  pay  in  kind  to  live  and  earn  bread 
for  their  little  children.  To  the  calamity  that  strikes 
them  is  added  the  misfortune  of  poverty,  which  does 
not  even  give  them  the  freedom  to  weep.  Therefore 
we  peasants  are  usually  sparing  of  tears.  You  seldom 
see  us  laugh  heartily,  either;  we  do  not  often  have 
any  reason  for  doing  so.  We  laugh  like  St.  Medard 
from  the  tips  of  our  lips,  remembering  the  proverb: 
"Too  much  laughter  brings  tears." 

Next  morning,  my  mother  began  to  set  about  find- 
ing work.    After  eating  a  little  breakfast,  we  left  for 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  65 

Jarripigier,  where  Mion*s  husband  had  told  her  that 
perhaps  she  could  get  work  by  the  day  with  a  man 
named  Maly,  who  had  land  to  cultivate,  and  often 
employed  day  laborers.  After  walking  a  long  time, 
we  reached  the  house  of  this  man,  who  was  not  at 
home.  But  his  wife  told  us  that  he  had  no  need  of 
anyone  at  present,  and  so  we  had  to  come  back.  In 
the  villages  we  passed  through  on  the  edge  of  the 
forest  my  mother  asked  where  she  could  find  work. 
At  Lucaux,  an  old  man  who  was  warming  himself  in 
the  sun  against  a  wall,  told  us  that  at  Puypautier,  at 
the  home  of  a  rich  peasant  named  Geral,  she  could  get 
several  days'  work  among  the  vines  or  weeding  the 
wheat.  When  we  reached  the  village,  a  boy  pointed 
out  to  us  a  big  old  house  where  Geral  was  at  that  very 
moment.  When,  in  answer  to  his  questions  my  mother 
told  him  she  was  the  wife  of  Martissou  of  Combe- 
negre,  the  servant  who  was  there  exclaimed,  "Oh! 
Holy  Virgin !"  looking  at  us  with  a  none  too  pleasant 
expression.  But  Geral  silenced  her  and  told  my  mother 
that  he  would  give  her  eight  sous  a  day,  and  that 
she  could  come  the  next  day.  She  thanked  him,  and 
answered  that  since  she  could  not  leave  me  alone  at 
the  tile-works  in  the  middle  of  the  woods,  she  must 
beg  him,  if  it  would  not  be  an  inconvenience,  to  let 
me  come,  too;  he  could  pay  her  less  if  I  were  fed 
also. 

"Very  well,  bring  your  boy,"  said  old  Geral,  who 
had  not  the  look  of  a  bad  man,  "and  I  will  give  you 
five  sous  instead  of  eight." 


56  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

So  the  next  morning  we  arrived  early  at  Puypau- 
tier,  and  while  my  mother  with  another  woman  picked 
up  the  vine-shoots,  I  amused  myself  with  the  little 
daughter  of  Geral's  servant,  who  watched  the  goat 
and  the  geese  and  was  named  Lina. 

At  nine  o'clock,  Lina's  mother  called  us  all  to  break- 
fast. On  the  table  was  a  large  green  dish  in  which 
was  smoking  a  good  soup  with  a  quantity  of  potatoes 
and  beans  in  it.  It  was  a  long  time  since  I  had  eaten 
anything  so  good,  and  without  doubt  the  others  found 
it  to  their  taste  also,  for  Geral,  his  farm  laborer,  the 
other  woman  and  the  servant,  all  came  back  for  a 
second  helping,  except  my  mother,  whom  grief  pre- 
vented from  eating  much.  The  servant  "cut  the  stuf- 
fing," as  we  say,  at  Geral's  house,  for  he  was  an  old 
bachelor;  and  although  I  knew  quite  well  that  it  was 
she  alone  who  had  my  mother  sent  away,  it  cannot 
be  denied  that  her  soup  was  good.  To  be  sure,  in 
the  house  there  were  all  the  necessary  materials  for  it. 

While  we  were  breakfasting,  Geral  tried  to  cheer 
my  mother,  and  told  her  that  since  Laborie  was  known 
to  everyone  as  a  bad  man,  a  scoundrel  indeed,  my 
father  would  perhaps  be  acquitted.  But  she  shook 
her  head  sadly. 

"You  see,  Geral,  the  people  against  us  are  too  rich 
and  have  too  long  a  reach.  The  gentlefolk  of  Nan- 
sac  will  do  all  in  their  power  to  have  him  condemned.** 

"That's  true,"  admitted  the  others. 

"In  any  case,  my  poor  woman,"  replied  Geral,  "you 
must  eat  to  keep  up  your  strength ;  otherwise,  you  will 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  57 

make  yourself  ill,  and  then  what  will  become  of  your 
boy?" 

''You're  right,"  replied  my  mother,  forcing  herself 
to  eat,  against  her  inclination. 

What  queer  things  children  are!  Certainly  I  loved 
my  father  dearly,  but  at  the  age  I  was  at  that  time 
one  is  easily  diverted.  The  whole  day  long  I  was 
with  Lina,  on  the  roads  bordered  by  thick  hedges  of 
evergreens  against  which  the  goat  reared  up  at  times 
to  graze.  While  the  geese  fed  on  the  short  grass 
by  the  roadside,  I  watched  their  actions  curiously. 
When  they  were  surfeited  they  lay  on  their  bellies, 
and  from  time  to  time  cheeped  among  themselves, 
as  if  they  were  discussing  their  ideas.  Truly,  seeing 
these  creatures  and  so  many  others  elsewhere  having 
their  own  peculiar  cry,  their  differently  sounding 
voices,  their  entirely  different  manner  of  gabbling  for 
different  occasions,  one  cannot  help  thinking  that  they 
understand  each  other.  So,  when  Lina's  big  placid 
gander,  his  feet  folded  under  him,  his  head  high,  his 
eye  shining,  remarked  softly  to  the  geese  reposing 
about  him:  '^Piati,  piau,  piau/'  it  seemed  to  me  that 
he  was  saying  to  them :  *Tt  is  pleasant  here  with  our 
crops  full."  And  when  a  goose  replied  in  the  same 
tone:  ''Piau,  piaUf  piau/'  I  thought  she  must  be  an- 
swering, "Yes,  it  is  pleasant  here."  Then,  when  a 
strange  dog  or  someone  not  of  the  village  came  along 
the  road,  the  male,  rising  up  on  his  feet,  signaled  it 
from  afar  by  a  piercing  cry  like  the  call  of  a  clarion. 
At  once  he  was  imitated  by  all  the  geese  repeating  his 


58  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

cry,  as  much  as  to  say:  *'We  have  understood.'*  Then 
he  would  remark  to  them  something  like,  "We  must 
retire/'  to  which  they  would  reply  briefly,  **Yes,'* 
and  set  off  in  a  line  for  the  poultry  yard,  he  acting 
as  rear-guard,  eye  and  ear  attentive,  solemn  as  a  don- 
key drinking  out  of  a  bucket,  with  the  leather  that 
bridled  him  through  his  nostrils. 

Sometimes  I  used  to  tell  Lina  all  this,  but  she  laugh- 
ingly made  fun  of  me,  and  said  that  I  was  as  silly  as 
the  geese  to  believe  things  like  that.  But  it  was  not 
ill-naturedly  meant  and  did  not  at  all  prevent  me  from 
being  very  fond  of  her  and  kissing  her  often. 

A  dozen  days  passed  in  this  way,  I  amusing  myself 
with  Lina,  when  one  evening  after  supper  Geral  gave 
my  mother  the  money  for  her  days'  work  and  told 
her  that  he  had  no  longer  any  need  of  her  at  present. 
While  saying  this,  he  had  a  shamefaced  air  like  a  per- 
son who  is  lying.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  was  plenty 
of  work.  But  from  what  the  other  woman  who 
worked  with  my  mother  told  us,  the  servant  caused 
him  so  much  trouble  about  her  that  to  have  peace 
he  sent  her  away.  Having  received  two  thirty-sou 
pieces,  my  mother  tied  them  up  in  a  corner  of  her 
handkerchief,  and  thanked  Geral,  and  we  went  off 
sadly,  she  anxious  over  the  future,  I  broken-hearted 
over  leaving  Lina. 

The  next  morning,  we  had  to  begin  over  again 
roaming  through  the  villages  about  the  forest,  seek- 
ing for  day-work.    But  when  evening  had  come  and 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  99 

we  were  back  at  the  tile-works  without  having  found 
anything,  I  was  very  tired,  so  tired  that  my  mother 
was  in  despair,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  whether  to 
leave  me  at  home  or  to  drag  me  the  whole  day  long 
after  her.  In  the  morning,  seeing  her  in  such  trouble, 
I  told  her  that  I  was  quite  rested  and  that  I  could 
walk  very  well.  Thereupon  we  started  out  again, 
going  slowly,  stopping  from  time  to  time,  she  carrying 
me  occasionally,  though  I  did  not  want  her  to.  It 
went  on  like  that  for  three  or  four  days,  during  which 
we  accomplished  nothing,  wearing  ourselves  out  in  a 
useless  search  for  work  and  having  no  longer  the 
good  fare  we  had  had  at  Geral's  house,  till  one  even- 
ing, as  we  passed  La  Grimaudie,  a  man  told  us  that 
the  mayor  of  Bars  ordered  us  to  go  there  without 
fail  the  next  day. 

So  in  the  morning  we  set  out  and  about  nine  o'clock 
reached  that  place.  A  woman  who  was  undressing 
her  boy  in  front  of  a  door,  crushing  the  fleas  with 
great  blows,  pointed  out  the  house  to  us.  Knocking 
first,  my  mother  opened  the  door,  whereupon  a  rough 
voice  called  out  to  us  to  enter. 

A  hunting  dog  as  thin  as  a  pickax,  which  was  sleep- 
ing by  the  fire,  flung  himself  on  us  barking. 

"Keep  still !  Keep  still !"  cried  the  same  rough  voice, 
without  being  able  to  silence  him. 

In  the  chimney  corner,  on  an  armchair  covered  with 
straw  there  sat,  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  her  head 
trembling,  a  very  old  woman,  who  might  have  been  a 
hundred  years  old,  watching  us  askance  out  of  the 


60  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

corner  of  her  dull  eye.  The  mayor  was  there  also, 
in  his  kitchen,  with  one  foot  on  a  bench,  fastening  a 
spur  on  his  shoe,  for  it  was  Tuesday  and  he  was 
leaving  for  the  market  at  Thenon.  When  he  had 
fastened  on  his  spur,  he  aimed  a  great  kick  at  the 
dog,  which  was  still  yapping,  and  drove  him  under 
the  table.  After  my  mother  had  explained  to  him 
that  she  had  come  here  by  his  orders,  he  said 
brusquely : 

"Then  you  are  the  wife  of  Martissou?" 

"Yes,  I  am,  sir." 

"If  that  is  the  case,  you  must  be  at  Perigueux  a 
fortnight  from  to-day,  without  fail;  they  are  to  try 
your  husband.  Here  is  the  summons/'  he  added,  tak- 
ing a  paper  from  a  little  drawer. 

"My  God,  how  shall  we  manage  it?"  cried  my 
mother,  as  we  were  returning  along  the  road. 

In  truth,  out  of  the  three  francs  which  Geral  had 
given  her,  she  had  had  to  buy  a  loaf  of  bread,  so 
that  we  had  almost  nothing  left.  Seeing  how  anxious 
she  was  over  this,  I  was  angry  at  not  being  able  to 
help  her,  till  one  morning,  roaming  about  on  the  edge 
of  the  forest,  I  found,  stretched  out  on  a  path,  a  hare, 
which  had  been  killed  the  evening  before  by  a  shot 
in  the  spine,  the  wound  being  quite  fresh.  I  picked 
it  up  and  ran  to  the  house,  delighted  to  carry  it  to 
my  mother.  As  it  was  impossible  to  know  who  had 
killed  it,  she  sold  it  the  next  Tuesday  at  Thenon,  along 
with  the  two  chickens  which  had  fallen  to  our  lot 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  61 

at  Combenegre,  in  order  to  make  a  little  money  for 
our  journey. 

When  the  day  came  on  which  we  must  leave,  we 
had  in  the  toe  of  a  stocking,  tied  up  with  a  piece  of 
coarse  string,  a  little  more  than  three  francs  in  sous 
and  liards.  My  mother  put  the  rest  of  the  hunch  of 
bread  in  my  father's  haversack,  which  Le  Rey  had 
given  back  to  us  with  his  knife,  slung  it  over  her 
shoulder,  and  took  a  staff  of  thorn,  and  after  fastening 
the  door  to  a  big  nail  with  a  cord  to  hold  it  shut,  we 
set  out. 

We  were  not  any  too  well  clothed  to  show  ourselves 
in  town.  My  mother  had  on  a  worn  skirt  of  drugget, 
a  bodice  of  brown  cloth,  much  mended,  a  cotton  hand- 
kerchief, checked  in  yellow  and  red,  on  her  head, 
brown  woolen  hose  and  sabots.  I  also  wore  sabots, 
a  knitted  cap  and  stockings,  a  pair  of  trousers  too 
short  for  me  of  the  same  stuff  as  my  mother's  skirt 
and  very  much  worn,  and  a  jacket  made  of  an  old 
sans-culotte  of  my  father's. 

Some  of  my  readers  will  doubtless  ask  what  a  sans- 
culotte is.  Well,  it  is  nothing  but  the  jacket  of  the 
time  of  the  Revolution,  rather  short  and  with  a  small 
collar,  falling  straight  like  the  jackets  of  the  soldiers. 
In  our  district,  this  garment  of  good  patriots  took, 
I  do  not  know  why,  the  name  of  those  who  wore  it. 

To  continue, — our  path  lay  across  the  forest,  to- 
wards Lac-Gendre,  and  we  took  this  direction,  having 
first  removed  our  sabots  so  as  to  walk  more  comfort- 


62  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

ably  on  the  wood-paths.  From  Lac-Gendre  we  went 
to  Triderie,  then  to  Bonneval,  and  finally  to  Fosse- 
magne,  where  we  found  the  newly-made  highway 
from  Lyons  to  Bordeaux. 

On  leaving  Fossemagne,  my  mother  made  me  sit 
down  on  the  edge  of  a  ditch  to  rest  a  little.  Half 
an  hour  later  we  started  off  again,  walking  slowly, 
following  the  outer  bank  of  the  road,  which  is  easier 
for  the  feet  than  the  middle  of  the  highway.  The 
poor  woman,  tormented  by  the  thought  of  what 
awaited  my  father,  hardly  spoke,  only  giving  me  now 
and  then  a  few  words  of  encouragement  or  taking  my 
hand  to  help  me  a  little.  We  met  almost  no  one  on 
the  trip:  sometimes  a  man  going  leisurely  on  foot, 
carrying  over  his  shoulder  on  a  stick  a  small  parcel 
tied  up  in  a  handkerchief;  or  a  traveler  on  a  strong, 
thickset  stallion,  his  cloak  bulging  over  the  holsters 
of  his  saddle,  which  revealed  the  butt  ends  of  his 
pistols,  behind  him,  fastened  to  the  cantel,  a  leather 
chest  closed  by  a  little  chain  and  padlock.  We  saw 
no  carriages  on  the  road,  as  one  does  to-day,  for  only 
the  very  richest  people  owned  them. 

At  a  short  half -league  from  Saint-Crepin,  we 
entered  a  big  grove  of  oaks  to  rest.  My  mother  gave 
me  a  piece  of  bread,  which  I  ate  hungrily,  all  dry  and 
black  though  it  was.  After  this,  I  stretched  out  on 
the  grass  and  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep. 

When  I  awoke,  the  sun  had  moved  towards  the 
west,  and  I  saw  my  mother  sitting  close  by  me.  See- 
ing I  was  awake,  she  rose  and  gave  me  her  hand. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  OS 

and  after  stretching  a  little,  I  also  got  up  to  start  oft* 
again. 

Passing  through  Saint-Crepin,  I  drank  from  a  foun- 
tain which  ran  into  a  stone  basin  near  the  posting- 
house,  and,  well  refreshed,  I  continued  to  walk  val- 
iantly, forcing  myself  a  little  so  as  to  show  my  mother 
that  I  was  not  too  tired.  Indeed  I  was  not;  only 
my  feet  burned  a  little,  for  it  was  not  the  same  thing 
to  walk  barefoot  on  a  road  heated  by  the  sun  as  in 
the  cool  earth  of  the  wood-paths. 

It  was  sunset  when  we  reached  Saint-Pierre,  for 
I  had  slept  a  long  time  in  the  wood.  When  we  had 
put  on  our  stockings  and  sabots  and  had  skirted  the 
town,  not  very  large  either  then  or  now,  my  mother 
noticed  an  old  house,  poor  in  appearance,  where  they 
had  stuck  a  pine  branch  in  a  hole  in  the  wall  as  a 
sign;  and,  as  the  door  was  open,  she  entered. 

A  kindly  old  woman,  in  a  cap  with  lappets,  a 
checked  handkerchief  crossed  on  her  breast,  and  an 
apron  of  red  cotton  cloth,  was  sitting  in  a  chair,  turn- 
ing her  spindle  of  wool  near  the  table.  To  my  mother's 
greeting,  she  replied  cordially : 

*'Good  evening,  good  evening,  good  folks !" 

To  the  question  whether  she  could  give  us  a  little 
supper  and  a  place  to  sleep  she  answered,  yes,  but 
that  as  she  no  longer  had  but  one  bed,  the  other  hav- 
ing been  seized  to  pay  the  cellar  tax,  we  should  have 
to  sleep  in  the  hayloft. 

"Oh!*'  said  ray  mother;  "we'll  sleep  very  well  in  the 
hay." 


64  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

"All  right,  then,  draw  up  to  the  fire,'*  replied  the 
old  woman. 

When  we  had  sat  down — they  are  curious  in  small 
places,  especially  the  women — the  old  woman,  as  she 
bustled  about  the  pot,  began  to  question  my  mother, 
to  find  out  where  we  were  going  and  for  what  pur- 
pose. She  had  such  an  honest  air  that  my  mother 
told  her  everything  in  detail,  the  trouble  that  had 
befallen  us,  the  rascality  of  Laborie,  and  how  my 
father  had  fired  upon  this  steward  of  the  gentlefolk 
of  Nansac,  they  and  Laborie  having  driven  him  to  ex- 
tremes, even  coming  to  kill  his  dog  in  his  own  yard. 

"Oh,  the  wretches!"  cried  the  old  woman.  "There 
are  plenty  in  this  neighborhood  who  would  do  as 
much!"  she  added,  putting  down  her  spindle.  "Be- 
fore the  Revolution  there  were  no  villainies  they  did 
not  do,  and  now  that  they  have  come  back  they  have 
begun  again,  especially  of  late." 

At  that  she  rose  brusquely,  went  to  close  the  door, 
and  lighted  the  lamp. 

"You  see,  my  poor  woman,"  she  said,  "these  nobles 
are  all  alike,  domineering,  proud  as  peacocks,  hard  on 
poor  people.  But  when  the  other  one  comes  back,  he 
will  remember  that  they  betrayed  him,  and  he  will 
throw  them  out  of  doors." 

"The  other  one?"  asked  my  mother. 

"Eh,  yes  .  .  .  Poleon,  him  they  sent  five  hundred 
thousand  leagues  away  over  the  sea  to  a  desert  island." 

My  mother  had  often  heard  people  before  the 
church  on  Sundays  speak  of  a  certain  Napoleon  who 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  65 

was  emperor  and  who  had  fought  so  many  wars  that 
many  of  the  conscripts  of  Perigord  had  stayed  over 
there,  in  unknown  countries.  But  in  the  region  of  the 
Barade  Forest,  people  were  not  well  versed  in  current 
affairs,  and  she  replied  simply: 

'Then  it's  greatly  to  be  hoped  that  he  comes  back 
soon,  since  he  is  a  friend  of  the  poor  people.  For 
we  are  too  wretched!" 

While  I  was  listening  to  these  words,  seated  on  a 
salting-tub  in  the  chimney  corner,  I  was  examining 
the  house,  which  was  in  truth  very  miserable.  The 
old  woman's  bed  was  in  a  corner,  protected  from 
the  dust  of  the  attic  by  a  canopy  and  a  curtain  of  the 
same  material,  formerly  blue  and  with  a  pattern  but 
now  quite  faded.  This  bed  had  several  chairs  beside 
it,  some  of  which  had  lost  their  straw  seats,  and 
was  loaded  at  the  foot  with  old  clothes.  In  the  oppo- 
site corner  was  the  empty  spot  left  by  the  bed  which 
had  been  seized  and  sold.  In  the  middle  was  a  table 
with  a  bench.  Against  the  wall,  opposite  the  door, 
was  a  shabby  kneading-trough  where  the  good  woman 
kept  bread  and  other  little  things  since  her  cabinet 
had  been  sold.  A  saucepan  and  a  pot  were  under  the 
trough,  a  soup  tureen  and  some  plates  above,  and, 
with  the  bucket  in  the  sink-stone,  that  was  about  all 
there  was.  One  saw  that  the  king's  men  had  passed 
there. 

As  the  supper  hour  was  approaching,  however,  the 
old  woman  went  out  to  fetch  some  armfuls  of  fagots 
in   the    Httle   cellar   which   communicated    with   the 


66  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

kitchen.  She  started  up  the  fire,  before  which  some 
beans  were  already  cooking,  and  hung  on  the  pothook 
her  other  pot,  in  which  there  was  bouillon.  That  done, 
she  took  the  cover  off  the  trough,  cursing  those  black- 
guards of  excise  men  who  had  made  her  sell  her  handy 
cabinet,  took  out  of  it  a  loaf  already  cut  into,  and 
began  to  slice  it  for  the  soup  with  a  sharp  knife,  an 
instrument  easier  to  handle  than  the  pruning-bill  we 
used  in  our  house. 

"We'll  have  supper,"  she  said,  "but  not  till  Duclaud 
arrives." 

"You  are  expecting  someone?"  asked  my  mother. 

"Yes,  a  fine  lad  who  sells  thread,  needles,  ribbon, 
buttons,  hooks,  pictures  like  those  there,"  she  added, 
pointing  out  certain  crude  prints  in  faded  colors,  "and 
other  little  things  also.  .  .  .  You  can  go  and  look 
at  the  pictures,"  the  old  woman  said  to  me.  "That'll 
amuse  you  while  you  are  waiting  for  supper.  .  .  . 
He  passes  almost  every  month,  on  his  way  to  the  dis- 
trict of  Thenon,"  she  added.  "I  think  he  will  come 
this  evening;  it  is  his  day.'* 

I  went  to  look  at  the  pictures  nailed  on  the  walls. 
There  were,  among  others,  the  unhappy  Wandering 
Jew,  with  his  stick  and  long  legs,  symbol  of  that  poor, 
disinherited  people  which  has  neither  hearth  nor  home ; 
then  "Jeannot  and  Colin,"  an  instructive  story, 
especially  in  these  times  when  so  many  people  go  to 
their  destruction  in  the  cities;  then  the  famous 
"Credit,"  a  dead  man,  stretched  on  the  earth,  killed 
by  bad  creditors  who  have  fled,  by  his  side  a  goose 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  Cf 

holding  a  purse  in  its  beak  with  this  inscription,  "My 
goose  does  everything!"  a  melancholy  and  dishearten- 
ing sentence  for  the  poor. 

While  I  was  curiously  examining  these  pictures, 
someone  knocked  three  times  with  a  stick  at  the 
door. 

*'lt's  Duclaud,"  said  the  old  woman,  going  to 
open  it. 

He  seemed  to  hesitate  on  seeing  us,  but  she  reas- 
sured him: 

"You  can  come  in.  .  .  .  It's  a  good  woman  and 
her  little  boy." 

Whereupon  he  entered.  He  was  a  strong  young 
fellow,  with  a  brown  face  and  tightly  curled  hair, 
wearing  a  cap  of  marten  skin,  a  smock  of  gray  striped 
cotton  cloth,  and  heavy  hobnailed  shoes.  He  was  bent 
under  the  weight  of  a  pack  which  he  carried  by  means 
of  a  large  leather  breast-strap. 

"Greetings  to  everyone !"  he  said,  leaning  his  heavy 
stick  against  the  door. 

Then  he  took  off  his  pack  and  placed  it  on  two 
chairs,  which  the  old  woman  had  quickly  arranged  for 
that  purpose. 

"You  are  tired,  my  poor  Duclaud,"  she  said. 
"Come  over  by  the  fire  a  little.  We  shall  have  supper 
in  no  time." 

"I  should  not  admit  it,  Minette,  but  I  shall  sup  with 
pleasure.  Since  Razac,  as  you  can  well  imagine,  my 
lunch  has  had  plenty  of  time  to  disappear." 

When  the  soup  had  been  poured  on  the  bread,  wc 


68  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

sat  down  at  table  and  the  old  woman  served  each  of 
us  a  dishful  of  good  bean  and  cabbage  soup.  I  was 
astonished  to  see  Duclaud  eat  his  soup  with  spoon 
and  fork  at  once.  In  our  part  of  the  country  we 
were  ignorant  of  this  custom,  for  the  good  reason 
that  we  had  no  forks.  When  we  had  a  mess  of  pota- 
toes or  beans  for  supper,  we  ate  it  with  spoons.  For 
meat  we  used  a  knife  and  our  fingers,  but  that  only 
happened  once  a  year,  at  carnival-time. 

Duclaud,  having  finished  his  soup,  took  the  measure 
and  poured  us  each  out  some  wine  in  our  dishes.  He 
filled  his  own  plate  to  the  very  edge,  so  that  a  duckling 
would  have  drowned  in  it.  One  could  see  that  he 
felt  quite  at  home  and  at  his  ease  in  the  house.  This 
wine  was  a  simple  wine  of  the  country,  but  not  as 
good  as  that  from  the  neighborhood  of  Jaures,  at 
Saint-Leon-sur-Vezere,  but  we  who  drank  only  poor, 
sour  wine,  often  spoiled,  for  three  or  four  months  of 
the  year,  and  water  the  rest  of  the  time,  thought  it 
very  good.  After  we  had  drunk,  the  pedlar  offered 
us  some  more  soup,  and,  as  no  one  wished  any,  served 
himself  another  dishful,  after  which  he  took  a  second 
copious  chabrol,  as  we  call  the  doctor's  draught,  drunk 
from  the  dish  with  the  rest  of  the  bouillon. 

Meanwhile,  Minette  had  placed  the  beans  in  a  salad 
plate  and  put  them  on  the  table,  whereupon  my  mother 
got  up,  saying  she  was  no  longer  hungry.  But  the 
good  old  woman  suspected  that  she  said  this  because 
she  feared  the  expense,  and  made  her  sit  down  again. 

*'You  must  eat  all  the  same  to  keep  your  strength," 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  69 

she  said.  ''Eat,  eat,  poor  woman,  otherwise  you  will 
never  manage  to  reach  Perigueux/' 

While  we  were  supping,  Minette  told  Duclaud  about 
my  father's  case,  and  asked  him  what  he  thought  of  it. 

"What  can  I  say?"  he  exclaimed.  **If  the  judge 
and  jury  were  men  like  me,  they  would  see  how  this 
man  had  been  driven  to  extremities  by  that  scoundrel 
of  a  steward  and  those  gentlefolk,  and  he  would  get 
off  with  a  year  or  six  months  in  prison.  But,  you  see, 
the  jury  are  members  of  the  bourgeois,  rich  men  who, 
even  if  they  are  honest,  tend  to  favor  those  of  their 
own  class.  However,  there  are  just  men  everywhere, 
and  it  would  only  need  one  or  two  to  win  over  the 
others.  It  often  happens  that  way;  you  must  not 
despair.  Ah !"  he  added,  ''how  they  ought  to  be  pun- 
ished for  unjust  and  wicked  deeds,  paying  no  heed 
to  the  evil  that  may  come  of  them." 

That  evening,  after  supper,  Duclaud  drew  from  the 
bottom  of  his  pack  some  small  parcels  and  other  things 
which  he  put  into  a  great  pocket  beneath  his  blouse, 
and  went  out.  It  has  occurred  to  me  since  that  per- 
haps he  had  some  dealings  in  contraband  tobacco  and 
powder. 

When  the  time  came  to  go  to  bed,  old  Minette  said 
she  had  been  thinking  it  over,  and  that  since  Duclaud 
was  to  sleep  in  the  hayloft,  my  mother  and  I  might 
share  her  bed;  it  would  be  large  enough  for  three, 
especially  as  I  was  not  very  big.  This  we  did.  No 
doubt  the  pedlar  entered  by  the  cellar  door,  which 


70  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

opened  outside,  and  went  up  to  the  hayloft.    I  did 
not  see  him  again. 

Early  the  next  morning  Minctte  heated  the  soup 
and  made  us  eat  it.  When  it  came  time  to  pay,  she 
told  my  mother  she  would  have  need  enough  for  her 
money  at  Perigueux,  where  everything  was  dear ;  that 
she  could  pay  on  her  return  if  she  had  anything  left. 
My  mother  thanked  her  heartily,  but  said  that  it  would 
grieve  her  to  go  off  like  that  without  paying;  besides, 
she  did  not  know  what  was  going  to  happen,  or 
whether  she  would  be  passing  again  through  Saint- 
Pierre. 

"Well,"  said  the  old  woman,  "if  that's  the  case, 
you  owe  me  ten  sous." 

My  mother  knew  that  she  was  asking  very  little. 
She  gave  her  the  ten  sous,  and  assured  her  that  she 
would  always  remember  her  and  her  kindness  to  us. 
Minette  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  said : 
"The  poor  must  certainly  help  each  other." 
Then  they  embraced  warmly,  my  mother  and  she, 
and  we  parted  with  many  warm  wishes  for  good  luck 
which,  like  so  many  others,  came  to  nothing. 

Early  in  the  morning  we  were  thus  once  more  on 
the  great  deserted  highway.  It  was  a  good  hour  for 
walking;  the  rising  sun  was  drying  up  the  light  fog 
which  floated  up  into  the  air  and  disappeared.  Behind 
us  the  cocks  of  Saint-Pierre  were  crowing  loudly,  and 
this,  with  the  rising  fog,  presaged  rain.  Little  birds 
were  flying  about,  chasing  one  anothei^  among  the 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  71 

hedges  of  blossoming  brush,  at  the  foot  of  which 
were  sprinkled  in  the  grass  little  periwinkles  and 
"flowers  of  March,"  also  called  violets.  The  dew  was 
drying  in  the  newly  green  fields,  and  on  the  tops  of 
the  slopes,  cultivated  half  way  up,  the  thicket  was 
beginning  to  take  on  the  pale  green  of  spring.  I  was 
well  rested  and  well  filled,  and  had  it  not  been  for 
the  sad  mission  which  was  impelling  us,  it  would  have 
been  a  pleasure  to  travel  so. 

A  little  beyond  Saint-Marie  we  met  two  merry  lads 
who  were  walking  slowly,  strutting  a  little  and  sing- 
ing at  the  top  of  their  lungs.  They  were  dressed  in 
black  velvet,  belted  with  red,  and  had  soldiers'  knap- 
sacks on  their  backs.  Caps  of  black  velvet  sat  jauntily 
on  one  side  of  their  heads,  from  their  ears  hung  golden 
earrings,  and  in  their  hands  they  carried  large  canes, 
bound  with  ribbons,  which  they  were  dexterously 
swinging,  making  superb  little  windmills  of  them.  As 
they  passed  they  saluted  us  jovially,  and  we  asked  our- 
selves who  such  people  could  possibly  be.  Since  then 
I  have  realized  that  they  were  wandering  minstreU, 
making  the  tour  of  France. 

Just  as  we  reached  Saint-Laurent  the  rain  caught 
us,  a  little  fine  rain  that  dampened  and  covered  with 
mist  the  fields  through  which  the  Manoir  slowly 
wound.  Here  and  there  in  low  places  the  stream  made 
little  swamps,  where  the  water  birds  nested,  and  in 
other  places  it  lost  itself  among  the  mallows,  only  to 
come  out  a  little  later,  always  slowly,  slowly,  as  if  it 
was  sorry  to  be  swallowed  up  in  the  Ille. 


72  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

We  had  left  the  chateau  of  Lieu-Dieu  on  our  right 
when  suddenly  behind  us  we  heard  a  great  rattling 
noise.  We  turned  and  saw  a  large,  handsome  car- 
riage, drawn  by  four  horses,  with  two  postilions  in 
big  boots,  yellow  trousers,  red  waistcoats,  jackets  of  the 
King's  blue,  with  a  coat-of-arms  on  their  sleeves,  and 
hats  of  waxed  leather.  I  turned  around  in  curiosity 
to  see  this  carriage  pass,  and  my  mother  did  the  same 
to  wait  for  me.  When  it  reached  us  I  saw  through 
the  big  windows  the  Comte  and  Comtesse  de  Nansac 
and  their  eldest  daughter.  On  the  seat  in  front  w^as 
the  guard  Mascret,  and  behind  a  man-servant  with  a 
maid.  My  mother  looked  boldly  at  these  gentlefolk, 
her  jaws  set,  her  brows  scowling,  while  I  felt  my  heart 
rise  in  a  violent  sensation  of  hatred.  Seeing  us  thus, 
ill-clothed,  wet,  splashing  barefooted  on  the  soaked 
earth,  they  turned  away  their  eyes,  with  a  cold,  scorn- 
ful air,  and  the  carriage  passed  rapidly  by,  spattering 
us  with  drops  of  muddy  water. 

When  we  arrived  at  Lesparrat,  I  saw  the  beautiful 
plain  of  the  lUe  and  the  river  with  its  green  water, 
bordered  by  poplars,  which  runs  below  the  chateau 
of  Petit-Change.  It  seemed  as  if  we  had  entered 
another  country,  having  left  behind  the  narrow  valley 
of  the  Manoir,  enclosed  between  two  arid  slopes  of 
gray  land,  with  their  stunted  trees.  But  when  we  had 
climbed  the  little  hill  of  Pigeonnier  and  saw  B€vi- 
gueux  in  the  distance,  with  its  houses  rising  tier  on 
tier  on  the  Puy  Saint-Front,  and,  at  the  very  top, 
mounting    towards    the    sky,    the    old    clock-tower, 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  73 

scorched  by  the  sun  of  ten  centuries,  it  was  even  more 
exciting.  I  had  never  seen  anything  but  the  little 
town  of  Rouffignac,  and  I  could  not  imagine  such  a 
pile  of  houses  as  this,  though  I  was  only  seeing  a  part 
of  it.  Eagerness  to  arrive  gave  me  new  legs,  and 
from  that  moment  I  no  longer  felt  tired. 

We  skirted  the  garden  of  Monplaisir  and  crossed 
the  suburb  of  Tournepiche,  or  rather  of  Barris.  Then, 
when  we  had  passed  the  ancient  convent  of  the  Recol- 
lets,  which  is  now  the  Normal  School,  we  reached  the 
Pont-Vieux,  with  its  pointed  arches,  defended  formerly 
by  an  octagonal  tower,  the  foundations  of  which  can 
still  be  seen. 

Spring  rain  can  never  be  called  bad  weather,  says 
the  proverb.  This  one  had  wetted  us,  but  now  it  had 
stopped  and  I  thought  no  more  about  it,  absorbed  as 
I  was  in  all  I  was  seeing.  Along  the  whole  length 
of  the  river,  on  both  right  and  left,  old  houses  seemed 
to  step  down  from  the  Puy  Saint-Front  and  mirror 
themselves  in  the  waters.  Above  the  bridge  at  the 
corner  of  the  street  of  Port-de-Graule  there  was  a 
great,  ancient  house  in  freestone,  with  its  fagade 
turned  towards  the  Ille,  superb  with  its  elaborately 
wrought  machicolation,  its  large  bays,  its  high  pointed 
roofs.  Next  to  it  was  the  beautiful  Maison  Lambert 
with  its  three  tiers  of  balconies  overlooking  the  river 
and  held  up  by  lovely  carved  pillars.  Further  off, 
proudly  dominating  the  river  rose  the  tower  of  Barbe- 
cane,  with  its  crenelated  platform,  its  machicolation, 
and  its  loop-holes  for  culverins  and  arquebusses,  a 


n  JACQUOU  THE  BEBEL 

beautiful  relic  of  the  ancient  town,  which  has  since 
been  razed  to  the  ground  in  uprisings.  A  little  further 
off,  the  pointed  rocks  of  Arsault  rose  proudly. 

Below  the  bridge  was  the  old  fortified  mill  of 
Saint-Front,  somber  and  strange-looking  with  its 
thick  walls,  its  narrow  bays,  its  half -wooden,  half- 
stone  sheds,  held  up  by  the  main  rafters  or  glued  to 
the  walls  like  swallows'  nests.  Under  its  dark  arches 
the  waters  of  the  mill-dam,  divided  by  the  stone  but- 
tresses, were  slowly  swallowed  up.  Further  on  was 
a  strange  house,  with  a  balcony  in  the  form  of  a 
ship's  poop,  planted  on  a  mass  of  masonry,  which  ad- 
vanced sharply  into  the  water  like  the  prow  of  a  galley. 
One  would  have  said  it  was  a  medieval  ship,  with  its 
forecastle  in  front,  at  anchor  in  the  river.  At  the  very 
back,  the  leafy  trees  of  the  garden  of  the  prefecture 
were  reflected  in  the  water. 

And  above  and  below  as  well,  between  these  prin- 
cipal features,  was  a  swarm  of  houses,  descending, 
like  a  flock  of  sheep  in  disorder,  to  the  river  and 
bathing  their  feet  in  it,  old  houses  with  odd  gables 
holding  jars  for  sparrows'  nests,  with  balconies  of 
ornamented  wood,  with  projecting  stories,  held  up  by 
enormous  stone  supports,  with  narrow  or  mullioned 
windows,  with  sweet  basil  growing  in  old  cracked 
tureens,  or  mignonettes  in  pots  full  of  holes ;  buildings 
with  strange  louvers  which  seemed  to  spy  on  the  river. 
A  few  of  these  houses  were  built  up  of  clay  with 
wooden  frames;  shapeless  hovels,  cracked,  scaly, 
twisted,  falling  down  from  age  like  poor  old  women, 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  1f5 

they  leaned  over  the  Ille,  into  which  they  seemed  about 
to  fling  themselves.  Others  nearby,  like  drunken 
women,  had  lost  their  balance  and  leaned  against  the 
houses  nearest  them  or  held  themselves  up  on  enor- 
mous crutches  for  support.  Others  still,  of  freestone, 
solidly  built — some  of  them  on  the  remains  of  ancient 
ramparts — reflected  in  the  clear  water  their  tiers  red- 
dened by  the  sun,  their  irregular  bays,  their  covered 
galleries,  their  roofs  of  sharp  slate,  their  irregular  cat 
holes,  their  massive  chimneys  smoking  under  pointed 
hoods.  All  these  dissimilar  houses,  of  different  aspects, 
each  one  with  its  own  architecture,  materials,  orna- 
ments, excrescences,  its  own  style — some  being  the 
very  epitome  of  wretchedness — crowded  to  the  banks 
of  the  Ille  as  if  anxious  to  be  reflected  in  it.  Some  ex- 
tended over  the  water  or  plunged  their  stone  pillars 
into  it,  others  drew  back  as  if  they  feared  to  wet  their 
feet,  and  pushed  against  the  river's  edge  their  mas- 
sive terraces  with  heavy  railings.  Others  raised 
themselves  up  a  story  above  the  roof  of  their  neigh- 
bors to  see  the  Ille  flow  by,  and  to  watch  on  the  other 
side  the  meadows  bordered  with  poplars,  where  the 
washwomen  with  noisy  paddles  were  drying  their 
linen.  Here  and  there  on  a  terrace  was  a  tiny  garden 
as  big  as  a  hand,  or  at  the  foot  of  a  wall  a  weeping 
willow  falling  over  the  water.  At  the  opening  of 
the  river  were  moored  the  boats — barges  of  fishermen 
or  dyers. 

All  this  mass  of  strange,  irregular  buildings,  heaped 
up  in  disorder,  all  this  pile  of  g;abl«s,  j^alleries,  «tt«rior 


76  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

stairways,  sheds,  lean-tos  tiled  with  slates,  large  and 
narrow  bays,  pillars,  intercrossed  beams,  stone  brack- 
ets; supports,  projecting  stories,  wooden  balconies, 
dormer  windows,  flat  or  pointed  roofs,  blue  or  red; 
strange  chimneys,  rusty  weather-vanes — all  was 
spread  out  in  the  sun  in  a  confused  jumble,  where  the 
shadows  played  over  the  colors, — blue,  green,  red, 
tawny-gray, — or  pricked  out  from  among  the  clothes- 
lines some  skirt,  red  as  a  poppy,  drying  at  a  window.  I 
cannot  describe  it,  but  it  was  more  beautiful  than  it 
is  to-day. 

When  I  had  taken  this  all  in  with  one  long  glance, 
stock-still  at  the  entrance  to  the  bridge,  deafened  by 
the  noise  of  the  water  rushing  from  the  mill-dam,  my 
mother  pulled  me  away  by  the  hand,  and  we  climbed 
the  street  which  led  to  the  Place  du  Greffe,  a  steep 
street  paved  with  coarse  red  stones  from  the  river, 
which  the  morning  rain  had  set  glistening  in  the  sun. 
On  each  side  were  the  shops,  with  openings  round  or 
pointed,  or  arched  like  a  basket  handle,  without  win- 
dow fronts,  dark  in  the  interior:  wretched  huckster 
shops,  where  dangled  rosin  candles,  mean  little  shops 
where  they  sold  crockery  or  sabots,  or  wine  by  the  pot 
or  the  pint;  little  workrooms  where  toiled  the  nail- 
makers,  chair-makers  with  their  humming  lathes, 
cobblers,  pulling  their  waxed  thread,  lantern-makers, 
hammering  the  tin  with  a  wooden  mallet.  All  these 
tradesmen,  hearing  our  sabots  on  the  paving-stones, 
raised  their  heads,  and  seemed  to  say,  "Where  the 
devil  do  these  people  come  from?"     Higher  up  on 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  77 

the  square,  right  up  against  the  great,  black  walls 
of  Saint-Front,  were  tiny  little  wooden  huts,  miser- 
able booths  made  of  earth,  cabins  of  perpend-stone, 
where  were  installed  the  dealers  in  dried  fruit,  vege- 
tables, pigeons — and  butchers  who  sold  meat  from  the 
carcass. 

When  we  had  arrived  before  the  porch  of  the  regis- 
try, we  stopped,  head  in  air  at  the  sight  of  the  old 
building  and  its  clock-tower  with  its  little  columns, 
lighted  by  the  sun,  around  which  the  swallows  whirled 
with  sharp  cries.  Then  my  mother,  lowering  her  head, 
saw  a  woman  before  the  entrance  selling  wax-candles, 
and  conceived  the  idea  of  burning  one  for  my  father's 
sake.  Having  bought  it  for  six  liards,  she  entered 
the  cathedral,  I  following  her. 

What  superb  grandeur!  How  small  I  felt  under 
these  vaults  suspended  in  the  air!  In  the  chapel  at 
I'Herm  I  had  felt  nothing  but  a  lively  curiosity;  in 
the  church  at  Rouffignac  I  had  also  felt  at  ease;  but 
in  this  old  Saint-Front,  with  its  gigantic  pillars,  black- 
ened by  time,  its  walls  green  with  damp,  which  had 
watched  without  flinching  the  events  of  ten  centuries, 
it  was  quite  another  matter.  I,  a  small  child,  ignorant 
and  weak,  felt  myself  lost  in  the  immensity  of  the 
building,  crushed  by  its  size,  and  at  this  moment  ex- 
perienced something  like  an  impression  of  religious 
awe  which  increased  the  further  we  penetrated  the 
deserted  church,  over  the  great  flagstones  that  echoed 
to  the  vaults  the  sound  of  our  sabots.  In  a  corner 
my  mother  noticed  on  a  massive  pedestal  a  statue  of 


78  JACQUOU  THE  BEBEL 

the  Virgin,  and  went  up  to  it.  As  far  as  I  can  re- 
member, it  was  a  very  old  stone  statue,  rather  naively 
cut;  the  sculptor,  however,  had  been  able  to  give  to 
the  face  of  the  mother  of  Christ  an  expression  of  ten- 
der pity  and  infinite  goodness.  In  front  of  the  Virgin 
had  been  placed  a  sort  of  candle-stand  with  iron  points, 
where  at  this  moment  a  poor  man's  candle  like  ours 
was  just  burning  out.  Having  lighted  her  candle,  my 
mother  stuck  it  on  a  point,  and,  kneeling  down,  prayed 
in  patois,  as  she  could  not  speak  French,  entreating 
the  Virgin  Mary  just  as  if  she  had  been  present.  Her 
prayer  can  be  translated  thus: 

"I  salute  you,  most  gracious  Mother ;  the  good  God 
is  with  you;  you  are  blest  among  all  women,  and 
Jesus,  the  fruit  of  your  womb,  is  also  blest. 

''Holy  Virgin,  I  am  a  poor  woman  who  does  not 
know  how  to  address  you  as  I  should.  But  you  who 
know  everything,  you  understand  me  just  the  same. 
Have  pity  on  me,  holy  Virgin!  Sometimes,  indeed, 
I  have  forgotten  to  pray  to  you.  But  you  know  the 
poor  have  not  always  the  time.  Have  pity  on  us  all, 
holy  Virgin,  and  save  my  poor  Martissou.  He  is  not 
a  bad  man,  not  a  rogue,  he  is  only  a  little  hot-headed. 
If  he  committed  that  wicked  deed,  he  was  driven  to 
it,  holy  Virgin.  That  Laborie  was  a  scoundrel  in 
all  sorts  of  ways:  you  know  it  well,  holy  Virgin. 
What  made  my  poor  man  finally  lose  patience  was 
that  he  had  known  for  a  long  time  that  this  rascal  was 
always  insulting  me;  he  had  heard  it  one  day  up  in 
the  hayloft. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  79 

"Ah,  holy,  good  Virgin,  I  entreat  you,  save  my  poor 
Martissou!  I  will  bless  you  all  the  days  of  my  life, 
holy  Virgin,  and  before  I  return  I  will  burn  a  candle 
ten  times  larger  than  this  one.  Do  it,  holy  Virgin, 
doitr 

While  my  mother  was  praying  in  a  low  voice  and 
with  a  piteous  tone  I  was  wiping  my  eyes.  Having 
finished,  she  made  a  great  sign  of  the  cross  and  took  up 
her  stick  from  the  ground,  and  we  went  out. 

Under  the  porch  my  mother  asked  the  woman  who 
had  sold  her  the  candle  where  the  prison  was. 

"There,  close  by,"  said  the  woman,  "you  have  only 
to  climb  the  rue  de  la  Clarte  in  front  of  you.  At  the 
end  of  it,  turn  to  the  right.  Once  on  the  Coderc,  you 
will  find  the  prison  in  front  of  you." 

When  we  had  reached  the  square,  bordered  at  this 
period  with  ancient  houses  in  the  style  of  that  at  the 
corner  of  the  rue  Limogeane,  we  saw  in  the  back- 
ground on  the  site  of  the  present  market-place  the 
ancient  Hotel  de  Ville,  which  had  served  as  a  prison 
since  the  Revolution.  People  say  in  derision,  "gracious 
as  a  prison  door,"  and  they  speak  truly.  This  one  did 
not  give  the  lie  to  the  proverb.  Solidly  barred  with 
iron  and  reinforced  with  nails,  with  a  little  closely 
barred  window,  it  had  a  sinister  air,  as  if  it  preserved 
the  memory  of  all  those  condemned  ones  who  had 
passed  over  the  threshold  on  their  way  to  the  galleys 
or  the  scaffold. 

My  mother  raised  the  heavy  iron  knocker,  which 


80  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

fell  with  a  dull  sound.  We  heard  a  step,  accompanied 
by  the  jingling  of  keys,  and  the  window  opened. 

"What  do  you  want?"  said  a  hard  voice. 

"To  see  my  husband,"  answered  my  mother. 

"And  who  is  your  husband?" 

"Martissou  of  Combenegre." 

"Ah !  the  murderer  of  Laborie.  Well,  you  can't  see 
him  without  permission.  His  lawyer  is  with  him  at 
this  moment;  wait  until  he  comes  out." 

And  the  window  closed. 

My  mother  sat  down  on  the  stone  horse-block  near 
the  door,  and  I  drew  back  a  few  steps,  curious  to  see 
this  old  Town  Hall  which  had  witnessed  so  many 
generations  pass.  It  was  a  mass  of  irregular  and 
unequally-sized  buildings,  solidly  built  to  resist  attack. 
On  one  side  was  a  massive  detached  house  pierced  with 
grilled  bay  windows,  three  stories  high  and  ending  in 
a  crenelated  terrace.  On  the  other  side  was  a  sort  of 
square  pavilion,  but  narrower,  with  a  pointed  roof. 
Between  these  two  buildings,  in  a  lower  structure, 
surmounted  by  a  machicolation,  there  opened  the  door 
of  which  I  have  spoken,  which  led  through  a  vaulted 
passage  to  a  little  interior  court.  Around  this  court 
and  close  by  the  rest  of  the  structure  were  other  build- 
ings connected  with  it,  some  of  them  added  after  it 
had  been  built.  The  whole  was  dominated  by  a  tall 
square  belfry,  with  battlements,  with  gargoyles  at  the 
corners,  and  a  very  pointed  roof  surmounted  with  a 
weather-vane. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  81 

While  I  was  looking  at  all  this,  the  door  opened 
and  a  young  gentleman  said  to  my  mother: 

"Are  you  the  wife  of  Martin  Ferral?" 

"Yes,  sir,  at  your  service,  if  I  could  do  anything," 
said  my  mother,  getting  up. 

"Just  now  you  cannot  see  your  husband,  poor 
woman,  but  to-morrow  when  he  goes  to  the  assizes 
you  will  see  him.  I  am  his  lawyer,"  he  added.  "Come 
home  with  me  a  little  while;  I  must  speak  with  you." 

And  he  took  us  to  his  room,  on  the  second  story 
of  a  house  in  the  rue  de  la  Sagesse,  No.  ii,  where 
there  is  still  a  pretty  old  door  with  pilasters  and 
sculptured  ornaments.  When  we  had  climbed  the 
winding  staircase  in  an  octagonal  tower,  the  man  bade 
us  enter  his  room  and  sit  down.  Then  he  began  to 
question  my  mother  about  a  great  many  things.  As 
she  answered  he  wrote  it  down.  He  asked  her  if  these 
proposals  which  Laborie  had  made  her  had  been  heard 
by  anyone,  and  she  answered,  no,  no  one  had  heard 
them  except  my  father,  who  did  so  quite  by  chance, 
for  this  man  was  sly  and  hypocritical,  but  that  every- 
one knew  he  attacked  the  young  women  who  were 
under  his  authority,  such  as  the  farmers'  wives,  or 
those  who  went  to  the  chateau  for  daily  labor.  Every- 
one knew  this,  for  the  women  told  each  other  about 
it  as  they  gossiped  at  the  bakehouse  or  washed  their 
clothes  at  the  brook,  at  least  those  did  who,  like  Mion 
of  Puymaigre,  had  not  listened  to  him. 

"Good,"  said  the  lawyer,  "I  shall  have  this  cited 
as  evidence  with  the  other  things." 


8«  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

When  he  had  finished  his  questions,  he  explained 
to  my  mother  what  she  must  say  before  the  court, 
and  how;  that  she  must  tell  the  whole  story  of  La- 
borie's  shameful  pursuit,  and  relate  one  by  one  all  the 
injuries  he  had  done  to  them  and  caused  others  to  do. 
He  urged  her  to  be  sure  to  say  that  it  was  true  that 
my  father  was  out  of  his  head  with  rage,  and  that 
he  only  fired  on  Laborie  on  seeing  him  return  to  the 
guard  the  gun  with  which  he  had  wounded  her  in  the 
forehead  and  killed  his  dog. 

As  we  were  about  to  leave,  the  lawyer  asked  my 
mother  where  we  were  staying,  and  when  she  an- 
swered that  she  did  not  know  where  we  should  find 
shelter,  since  we  had  only  just  arrived,  he  took  his 
hat  and  led  us  to  a  little  inn  in  the  rue  de  la  Miseri- 
corde.  After  recommending  us  to  the  innkeeper,  he 
told  my  mother  to  be  at  the  court  the  next  day  at  ten 
o'clock,  without  fail.  When  she  asked  him  if  he  had 
much  hope,  he  made  a  gesture  and  said: 

"Everything  that  is  in  the  hands  of  men  is  uncer- 
tain, but  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  keep  hoping  to  the 
very  end." 


CHAPTER  III 

The  next  morning  at  the  appointed  hour  we  stood 
before  the  building  of  the  ancient  Presidial,  which  is 
still  called  by  this  name,  and  which  was  on  the  Place 
du  Coderc,  just  opposite  the  prisons,  at  the  spot  where 
No.  8  is  to-day.  From  the  entrance  door  you  passed 
through  a  vestibule,  which  ended  in  a  little  dark  court 
surrounded  by  high  walls.  While  we  were  waiting  in 
this  court,  talking  to  the  people  from  our  neighbor- 
hood who  had  been  summoned  as  witnesses,  heavy, 
quick  steps  sounded  in  the  passage,  and  my  father 
came  in,  his  hands  chained,  escorted  by  three  gen- 
darmes. My  mother  gave  a  terrible  cry,  clasped  her 
arms  about  his  body,  and  embraced  him  warmly,  cry- 
ing and  lamenting,  while  I  clutched  him  by  one  leg 
and  wept. 

"Come,  come,"  said  the  gendarmes,  "that's  enough, 
that's  enough,  you  will  see  him  later." 

"Give  me  the  boy,"  said  my  father. 

Then  my  mother,  taking  me  in  both  hands,  raised 
me  to  his  neck,  which  I  clutched  with  all  the  strength 
in  my  little  arms. 

"My  poor  Jacquou!  my  poor  Jacquou!"  said  my 
father,  embracing  me. 

Finally,  we  had  to  separate,  half  willingly,  half  by 

83 


84  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

compulsion,  as  we  were  pulled  from  behind  by  the 
gendarmes,  who  led  their  prisoner  away. 

After  we  had  waited  a  long  time,  a  bailiff  called 
my  mother  and  we  entered  a  long,  high  chamber,  witTi 
ribbed  vaults,  and  dimly  lighted  by  two  pointed  win- 
dows opening  into  a  court.  At  the  back,  on  a  plat- 
form enclosed  by  a  wooden  railing,  three  judges  sat 
before  a  large  table  covered  with  a  green  cloth  and 
cluttered  with  papers.  The  one  in  the  center  wore 
a  red  robe,  which  had  a  sinister  suggestion;  the  two 
others  were  clothed  in  black,  and  all  three  wore  spec- 
tacles. On  either  side  of  the  platform,  before  very 
small  tables,  sat  the  prosecutor  and  the  recorder.  On 
the  wall  at  the  back,  above  the  judges,  a  large  picture 
represented  Jesus  Christ  on  the  cross,  all  drenched  in 
blood. 

Jury,  lawyers,  gendarmes,  the  accused  man,  the 
public:  the  arrangement  was  all  about  the  same  as  it 
is  to-day,  except  that  nowadays  judges,  jurors,  law- 
yers, everyone,  wears  a  beard  or  a  mustache,  while 
at  that  time  all  except  the  gendarmes  were  clean- 
shaven. 

While  my  mother  was  testifying,  a  gentleman  re- 
peated in  French  what  she  said  in  patois.  I  did  not 
pay  great  attention  to  it,  occupied  as  I  was  in  looking 
at  my  father,  who  was  also  looking  at  me;  but  all  at 
once,  in  the  stress  of  her  feeling,  my  mother  raised 
her  voice  high,  and,  turning  about,  I  saw  that  every- 
one was  watching  this  tall  woman,  with  her  fine  figure, 
under  her  wretched  garments,  and  her  beautiful  face, 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  85 

with  black  hair  and  eyes  which  shone  as  she  spoke  in 
her  husband's  behalf. 

When  she  had  finished,  the  King's  prosecutor  rose 
and  made  his  address  with  broad  gestures  and  bursts 
of  speech  which  resounded  through  the  hall.  I  did 
not  understand  all  that  he  said ;  it  seemed  to  me,  how- 
ever, that  he  was  trying  to  make  the  twelve  gentlemen 
of  the  jury  believe  that  for  a  long  time  my  father  had 
had  the  intention  of  murdering  Laborie.  What  proved 
it,  according  to  him,  was  the  threat  which  he  had  made 
to  Mascret  some  time  before,  that  he  would  make 
trouble  if  anyone  killed  his  dog.  He  therefore  de- 
served the  penalty  of  death. 

You  can  guess  in  what  a  state  we  were,  my  mother 
and  I,  on  hearing  the  prosecutor  speak  of  death.  As 
for  my  father,  he  did  not  seem  to  listen,  and  his  gaze, 
fastened  on  us,  seemed  to  say:  "What  will  become 
of  my  wife  and  my  poor  boy  if  I  am  condemned?'* 

When  the  prosecutor  had  finished,  our  lawyer  rose 
and  pleaded  for  my  father.  He  pointed  out,  from  all 
the  testimony  that  had  been  heard,  what  a  scoundrel 
this  Laborie  was ;  he  described  all  the  evil  he  had  done 
us,  emphasizing  especially  the  shameful  proposals  with 
which  he  had  unceasingly  pursued  my  mother;  and 
finally  showed  clearly  that  it  was  in  a  burst  of  anger 
that  my  father  had  killed  this  bad  man,  and  not  with 
deliberate  design.  In  short,  he  said  all  that  was  pos- 
sible to  say  to  excuse  him,  but  he  only  succeeded  in 
saving  my  father's  head.  He  was  condemned  to  twenty 
;^ears  in  the  galleys. 


86  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

When  the  president  pronounced  sentence,  a  dull 
murmur  ran  through  the  audience,  and  we  ourselves, 
my  mother  and  I,  began  to  wail  and  lament,  stretching 
out  our  arms  to  the  poor  man,  as  the  gendarmes  led 
him  away.  And  in  the  crowd,  as  everybody  was 
filing  out,  I  heard  the  Comte  de  Nansac  say  to  Mas- 
cret: 

''Now,  we  arc  rid  of  him!  He  will  perish  in  the 
hulks!" 

Two  days  later,  the  lawyer,  having  got  permission, 
took  us  to  see  my  father.  What  sad  moments  we 
spent  in  that  jail !  I  will  pass  over  them  now,  for  even 
after  so  many  years  it  hurts  me  yet  to  think  of  them. 

On  coming  out,  with  death  in  her  soul,  my  mother 
asked  the  lawyer  if  there  was  no  way  of  getting  a 
little  mercy  for  my  father  or  having  the  sentence  re- 
considered. 

''No,  my  poor  woman,"  he  said.  "If  he  is  well- 
behaved,  he  may  get  some  slight  diminution  of  his 
sentence  over  there,  but  with  the  Comte  de  Nansac 
against  him,  you  must  not  depend  too  much  upon  it. 
As  for  reversing  the  judgment,  I  see  no  grounds  for 
it,  and  besides,  even  if  there  were  any,  I  should  not 
advise  your  husband  to  make  use  of  them.  It  was 
only  by  a  hair's  breadth  that  he  escaped  being  sen- 
tenced for  life. 

"Stay  here  a  little  longer,"  he  added,  as  he  left 
us;  "I  will  try  to  arrange  for  you  to  see  him  once 
more." 

After  my  father's  conviction,  my  mother,  who  had 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  87 

lost  all  hope,  neither  ate  nor  slept.  A  slight,  low 
fever  made  her  eyes  burn  and  her  cheeks  flush,  and 
this  fever  increased  so  that  on  the  third  day  she  kept 
her  bed,  while  I  watched  through  the  window-panes 
the  blackened  tiles  of  the  houses  opposite,  where  now 
and  then  a  cat  slowly  passed  and  presently  disappeared 
through  its  hole.  The  next  day,  however,  my  mother 
got  up,  and  we  went  out  on  the  streets,  walking 
slowly,  she  holding  me  by  the  hand,  and  turning  back 
continually  to  the  prison,  as  if  there  was  some  ad- 
vantage for  us  in  watching  the  walls  behind  which 
my  father  was  confined. 

At  other  times,  I  should  have  been  curious  to  see 
the  town,  but  at  that  moment  grief  deprived  me  of 
interest  in  all  these  things,  new  as  they  were  to  me. 
People  in  the  streets  or  on  the  steps  of  entrances  and 
shops  looked  at  us  curiously,  well  knowing,  from  our 
air  and  our  attire,  that  we  had  come  from  one  of 
those  very  wild  districts  of  Perigord,  La  Double,  or 
the  plains  of  Nontronnais,  or  the  Barade  Forest,  as 
was  indeed  the  case. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  fifth  day,  we  were  going 
up  the  rue  Taillefer,  towards  Saint-Front,  mechan- 
ically looking  at  the  shops  of  the  pharmacists,  liquor 
dealers,  grocers,  butchers,  hatters,  and  umbrella  ven- 
dors, of  which  at  this  time  it  was  full,  when,  as  we 
reached  the  Place  de  la  Clautre,  we  saw  a  big  crowd. 

In  the  middle  of  the  square,  at  the  spot  where  they 
set  up  the  guillotine,  there  was  a  little  stage,  four  or 
five  feet  high,  from  the  middle  of  which  rose  a  strong 


88  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

post  supporting  a  small  bench.  On  this  bench  a  man 
was  sitting,  his  hands  chained  and  fastened  to  the 
post  by  an  iron  collar  which  went  around  his  neck. 
This  man  was  my  father !  On  the  scaffold  the  execu- 
tioner stood  waiting,  and  around  him  four  gendarmes, 
with  sabers  drawn,  mounted  guard  and  kept  the  crowd 
at  a  distance.  My  mother,  seeing  her  Martissou  in 
this  sad  plight,  gave  a  piteous  groan,  and  began  to 
weep  into  her  apron,  while  I,  full  of  terror,  clutched 
her  skirt,  silently  weeping  also.  In  front  of  us,  some 
person  was  reading  aloud  the  writing  placed  above 
the  head  of  the  unhappy  man  exposed  in  the  iron 
collar: 

''Martin  Ferral,  called  the  Croquant  of  Combe- 
negre,  commune  of  Rouffignac,  condemned  to  twenty 
years  of  hard  labor  for  murder." 

A  long  moment  we  stood  there,  hidden  behind  the 
curious  spectators  and  weeping  in  silence.  At  times, 
when  the  crowd  moved,  I  caught  glimpses  of  the  exe- 
cutioner, who  had  the  air  of  being  very  much  bored 
with  it  all,  and  was  w^atching  the  time  on  a  big  silver 
watch  which  he  pulled  from  the  pocket  of  his  breeches 
by  a  short  chain  decorated  with  knick-knacks.  Meet- 
ing him  in  the  street,  without  knowing  who  he  was, 
one  would  never  have  said  that  it  was  he  who  did  the 
guillotining,  he  had  such  a  good  face.  Besides,  he  was 
well-dressed,  as  the  saying  goes,  "fine  as  an  execu- 
tioner who  is  taking  the  Easter  communion,"  with 
his  big  frock-coat  of  royal  blue,  falling  just  to  his 
boottops,  his  high  muslin  cravat,  and  his  little  stove- 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  8d 

pipe  hat.  At  last,  so  long  had  we  been  standing  there, 
the  clock-tower  of  Saint-Front  struck  four  o'clock. 
Then  the  executioner  pulled  the  key  out  of  his  pocket, 
opened  the  padlock  on  the  iron  collar  which  held  my 
father  by  the  neck,  and,  taking  him  by  the  arm,  led 
him  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  that  went  up  to  the  scaf- 
fold, and  turned  him  over  to  the  gendarmes,  who  took 
him  away.  We  ourselves  followed  at  a  little  distance, 
watching  him  go  off,  his  head  high,  his  manner  con- 
fident, in  the  midst  of  the  four  gendarmes.  Although 
people  stared  at  him  curiously  from  the  steps  of  the 
entrances  and  shops,  I  am  sure  he  did  not  even  blink 
his  eyes.  It  was  not  so  with  us ;  we  had  a  melancholy 
air,  sad  faces,  and  wet  eyes  which  we  wiped  on  the 
backs  of  our  hands.  Those  who  saw  us  pass  said  to 
each  other: 

"That  must  be  his  wife  and  his  boy." 

That  night  I  slept  poorly,  my  head  full  of  bad 
dreams.  At  times  I  awoke  with  a  start  and  pressed 
against  my  mother,  who,  poor  soul,  did  not  sleep  at 
all,  and  fondled  me  long  to  quiet  me.  When  day  came, 
she  arose,  and,  letting  me  sleep,  sat  down  by  the  win- 
dow, looking  blindly  out,  lost  in  her  grief.  When  I 
opened  my  eyes  about  seven  o'clock,  I  saw  her  thus 
on  the  chair,  her  arms  stretched  out,  her  hands 
clasped,  her  head  bent,  her  gaze  fixed  on  the  floor. 
From  the  street  arose  the  cries  of  the  cake  and  chest- 
nut vendors,  and  this  succeeded  in  waking  me.  My 
mother  dressed  me  and  we  went  out,  thinking  to  see 
my  father  again  on  that  day,  as  his  lawyer  had  led 


90  JACXJUOU  THE  REBEL 

us  to  hope  we  might.  So  we  went  straight  to  the 
prison,  where  he  had  told  us  to  wait  for  him.  On 
the  road  my  mother  bought  for  two  Hards  some  dry 
chestnuts,  which,  as  the  season  was  past,  were  not 
very  good,  and  we  sat  down  close  to  that  terrible  iron 
door.  While  we  were  there,  however,  and  I  was  tak- 
ing the  chestnuts  one  by  one  from  my  mother's  apron 
pocket,  as  she  meditated  sadly,  there  came  up  a  great 
wagon  with  a  long  black  body,  shaped  like  a  covered 
van,  and  pierced  only  on  the  sides  with  tiny,  iron- 
barred  windows,  big  as  a  man's  hand.  It  stopped 
before  the  prison.  A  man  in  a  gray  uniform,  with 
a  short  saber  hung  on  a  white  belt,  got  down.  He 
knocked  on  the  prison  door,  which  opened,  and  shut 
behind  him. 

At  once  a  group  of  children,  curious  men  and 
women,  and  idlers  gathered  about  the  wagon,  saying 
one  to  another: 

'There  is  the  convicts'  wagon,  to  take  away  those 
who  have  just  been  condemned." 

Chilled  at  these  words,  my  mother  and  I  had  risen, 
when  the  door  opened  again  and  the  man  with  the 
saber  came  out,  preceding  a  gendarme  after  whom 
came  three  chained  men,  the  last  of  them  my  father. 
Another  gendarme  followed.  The  man  in  gray  opened 
a  little  solid  heavily  barred  door  at  the  back  of  the 
wagon,  and  made  the  condemned  men  climb  in.  On 
seeing  my  father  go  off  like  this,  without  bidding  us 
good-bye,  we  broke  into  loud  weeping,  but,  although 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  91 

he  was  shoved  along  by  the  gendarmes,  he  turned  and 
called  out  to  my  mother : 

"Courage,  wife!    Think  of  the  boy!" 

Then  a  gendarme  climbed  up  behind  him,  the  door 
was  locked,  another  gendarme  placed  himself  in  front 
with  the  man  in  gray,  and  the  driver  whipped  up  his 
three  horses,  which  set  off  at  a  fast  trot. 

For  a  moment  we  stayed  there,  stunned,  like  sim- 
pletons, sobbing  and  paying  no  attention  to  the  loung- 
ers who  had  collected  about  us. 

One  man  in  a  leather  apron,  however,  I  heard  say : 

*T  saw  him  tried,  that  fellow,  and  by  my  faith  he  is 
worth  a  hundred  times  more  than  the  man  he  killed. 
...  As  for  those  who  drove  him  to  it,  they  are 
more  guilty  than  he.  Ah !  twenty  years  ago  we  should 
have  taught  them  reason!'* 

When  we  went  to  the  lawyer's  house,  he  was  much 
astonished  to  learn  that  my  father  had  gone,  for  they 
had  assured  him  that  the  convict  wagon  would  not 
come  until  the  next  day.  But  whether  they  had  de- 
ceived him  on  purpose  or  the  wagon  had  come  a  day 
early,  at  any  rate  it  was  all  over.  We  must  be  guided 
by  reason,  as  he  said.  After  he  had  comforted  us 
with  kind  words,  and  consoled  us  a  little  by  promising 
to  send  us  news  of  my  father,  my  mother  thanked  him 
earnestly  for  all  he  had  done  to  save  her  poor  hus- 
band, and  also  for  all  his  kindnesses  to  us.  And  when 
she  added  that,  being  penniless,  she  was  totally  unable 
to  recompense  him  for  all  his  trouble,  he  answered : 


92  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

"I  never  take  anything  from  poor  people ;  so  do  not 
trouble  yourself  about  that." 

At  this  my  mother  asked  his  name,  assuring  him 
that  as  long  as  we  lived  we  should  both  be  grateful  to 
him. 

"My  name  is  Vidal-Fongrave,"  said  he.  "I  am 
glad  that  it  is  not  to  ungrateful  people  I  have  been 
of  service.  But  don't  exaggerate  things;  I  have  only 
done  my  duty  as  a  man  and  as  a  lawyer." 

We  parted  from  M.  Fongrave,  and  my  mother  de- 
cided to  leave  immediately,  since  we  no  longer  had  any 
reason  for  remaining  at  Perigueux,  and  it  was  early. 
First,  we  went  to  the  inn,  where  she  asked  the  land- 
lady how  much  we  owed  her,  trembling  for  fear  she 
should  not  have  enough  money.  But  the  woman  an- 
swered : 

"You  owe  me  nothing  at  all,  good  woman.  M.  Fon- 
grave has  paid  for  everything  in  advance,  and  wait! 
he  has  even  asked  me  to  give  you  this." 

And  she  held  out  to  her  an  ecu  of  a  hundred  sous, 
folded  in  a  paper. 

"My  God,"  exclaimed  my  mother,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes.  "There  are  still  good  people  in  the  world.  Tell 
M.  Fongrave,  I  beg  you,  that  I  did  not  thank  him 
enough  just  now,  but  that  all  the  days  of  my  life, 
when  I  remember  my  poor  husband's  misfortune,  I 
shall  think  of  his  goodness." 

"Ah!"  said  the  woman,  "he  is  a  fine  young  gentle- 
man. And,  without  wishing  to  wrong  the  other  law- 
yers, I  think  there  is  no  one  like  him." 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  93 

Having  left  the  inn  and  reached  the  Place  du  Greffe, 
we  went  down  again  towards  the  Faubourg  des  Barris, 
and  a  moment  later  were  in  the  open  country  on  the 
highway. 

My  mother,  holding  my  hand  to  help  me,  walked 
slowly.  At  times,  she  sighed  heavily,  as  if  she  had 
received  a  heavy  blow,  thinking  of  the  hard  life  of 
the  galleys  my  father  was  to  lead  over  there,  just 
where  we  did  not  know.  If  she  was  broken-hearted, 
she  was  in  less  anguish,  however,  than  when  she  came, 
for  the  terrible  image  of  the  guillotine  had  disappeared 
from  her  imagination.  But  there  remained  the  appal- 
ling thought  of  her  poor  Martissou,  separated  from 
her  forever  and  dying  in  the  convict  ship,  as  the  Comte 
de  Nansac  had  said,  of  grief  and  misery,  under  the  rod 
of  the  convict  wardens. 

At  Saint-Laurent-du-Manoir,  near  a  road-house,  a 
heavy  cart,  hitched  to  four  strong  horses,  had  stopped. 
We  had  gone  three  hundred  feet  beyond  the  place, 
when  we  heard  behind  us  the  noise  of  the  little  bells 
the  horses  wore  on  their  collars.  The  man  who  was 
driving  them  was  a  big  jovial  fellow,  wearing  a 
wagoner's  smock,  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  cracking 
his  whip  as  he  swung  his  arms,  while  a  cunning  little 
white  dog  on  the  hood  of  the  cart  ran  barking  from 
one  end  to  the  other.  As  soon  as  the  cart  had  come 
up  to  us,  the  man  accosted  us  without  ceremony  and 
asked  my  mother  where  we  were  going.  At  her  reply 
he  said: 


94  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

"I  am  going  to  sup  at  Thenon  this  evening.  I  will 
carry  you  there;  you  look  very  tired,  poor  souls." 

And  without  waiting  for  my  mother's  consent,  he 
stopped  his  horses  and  placed  me  in  a  great  basket, 
hung  under  the  cart,  which  contained  some  straw  and 
the  man's  rough  woolen  cloak.  I  lay  down  on  this, 
and  soon,  rocked  by  the  motion,  fell  asleep. 

When  I  awoke  the  sun  was  sinking,  casting  over  the 
road  the  long  shadows  of  the  horse  and  wagon  and 
also  of  the  wagoner  who  was  walking,  keeping  pace 
with  his  shaft  horse.  Looking  for  my  mother,  I  saw 
her  heavy  sabots  under  the  front  of  the  wagon,  where 
she  was  sitting.  By  this  time  we  were  approaching 
Fossemagne,  and,  as  my  mother  wished  to  get  down, 
the  wagoner  told  her  it  was  not  very  wise  to  enter 
the  woods  with  night  coming  on.  It  would  be  better 
for  us  to  come  as  far  as  Thenon,  where  he  would  give 
us  supper  and  a  night's  lodging.  But  my  mother 
thanked  him  heartily  and  answered  that,  since  we  still 
had  a  good  hour  and  a  half  of  daylight,  we  had  time 
to  reach  home. 

"As  you  wish,  good  woman,'*  he  said,  halting  his 
horses. 

When  my  mother  thanked  him  again  for  his  kind- 
ness, which  had  done  us  good  service,  he  answered 
that  it  was  nothing,  bade  us  good  evening,  cracked  his 
whip,  and  cried: 

"Hue!" 

And  the  horses  started  up  again,  with  difficulty  get- 
ting their  heavy  load  under  way. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  95 

Wc  were  once  again  on  the  borders  of  the  road  we 
had  taken  some  days  before  to  go  to  Perigueux,  and, 
thanks  to  that  good  fellow  of  a  carter,  were  well 
rested.  We  set  off  at  a  round  pace,  measured,  how- 
ever, by  the  length  of  my  little  legs.  On  her  shoulder 
my  mother  carried  on  a  stick  a  five  pound  loaf  which 
she  had  bought  at  Perigueux  before  leaving.  At  Lac- 
Gendre,  the  farmers  who  had  seen  us  on  our  way, 
asked  what  had  happened,  and  at  my  mother's  reply 
the  woman  cried  out: 

"Good  holy  Virgin !    Is  it  possible !" 

Then  she  invited  us  to  come  in,  saying  that  we  could 
have  supper  with  them.  But  to  tell  the  truth,  I  do 
not  think  it  was  a  very  sincere  invitation,  for  she  did 
not  urge  us  when  my  mother  excused  herself,  saying 
that  we  had  only  enough  time  to  reach  home  before 
night.  Exchanging  a  "God  be  with  you!"  we  left 
them  and  entered  the  deep  forest. 

The  sun  was  still  dimly  lighting  the  tops  of  the 
tall  trees,  but  it  was  getting  dark  in  the  thick  under- 
growth, and  far  away  in  the  low  places  a  light  mist 
was  floating.  The  cool  of  evening  was  beginning 
to  fall.  From  all  directions  the  magpies,  which  had 
been  out  foraging  in  the  fields  and  in  the  staddles, 
were  flying  towards  the  forest  to  roost,  and,  as  is  their 
way,  were  chattering  like  mad  before  going  to  sleep. 

While  we  were  in  the  little  valley  which  comes  from 
Grand-Bonnet,  passes  below  La  Granval,  and  descends 
towards  Saint-Geyrac,  the  sun  fell  quite  below  the 
edge  of  the  woods,  and  twilight  spread  over  the  forest, 


96  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

darkening  the  woody  slopes  and  the  clearings  in  the 
chestnut  groves  about  us.  At  the  same  time,  far  ahead 
of  us,  the  evening  Angelus  sounded  from  the  clock- 
tower  of  Bars,  and  soon,  on  our  right,  more  faintly, 
that  of  Rouffignac.  My  mother  took  my  hand  again 
and  hurried  her  steps,  but  for  all  that  it  was  quite 
dark  when  we  reached  the  tile-works. 

The  door  was  still  fastened  by  the  piece  of  string 
which  we  had  put  there  on  leaving.  We  undid  it  and 
entered.  Nothing  seemed  changed  in  the  hut.  But 
coming  back  from  Perigueux,  where  we  had  seen  such 
fine  houses  and  pretty  shops,  we  found  it  more  miser- 
able than  ever.  With  the  thought  of  my  father  in 
our  minds,  we  would  have  found  the  most  beautiful 
dwelling  sad.  I  said  that  nothing  was  changed  in  the 
house.  When  my  mother  had  lighted  the  rosin  candle 
with  the  aid  of  the  flint  and  a  stick  dipped  in  sulphur, 
she  saw  on  the  beaten  earth  the  trace  of  nailed  shoes. 
Who  could  have  come?  For  what  purpose?  Rob- 
bers ?  And  to  steal  what  ?  Finally,  not  knowing  how 
to  explain  it,  my  mother  put  the  bar  on  the  door,  and 
after  we  had  eaten  a  bit  of  bread,  we  went  to  bed. 

From  the  next  day,  in  spite  of  all  her  grief,  the  poor 
woman  began  to  worry  about  finding  work  by  the  day. 
She  could  not  think  of  returning  to  Geral,  because 
of  the  servant  who  had  "cut  the  stuffing"  at  his  house, 
as  we  say  of  those  who  become  mistresses.  Because 
of  Lina  I  regretted  this  very  much.  In  our  neighbor- 
hood there  were  more  farmers  and  small  holdings, 
ithan  well-to-do  proprietors  who  employed  day  labor- 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  97 

ers.  At  the  other  end  of  the  forest,  near  Saint- 
Geyrac,  was  the  estate  of  THerm,  of  which  there 
could  be  no  question.  On  this  side  of  Rouffignac 
was  Tourtel,  which  belonged  to  M.  de  Baronnat,  who, 
from  what  I  had  heard,  was  a  former  judge  of  the 
court  at  Grenoble.  Beyond  that  was  the  chateau  of 
Cheylard,  where  she  might  have  found  some  work 
now  that  the  season  was  beginning.  But  these  places 
were  too  far  from  the  tile-works.  By  dint  of  search- 
ing, my  mother  found  employment  with  a  man  at 
Marance,  whose  eldest  boy  had  gone  to  enlist,  for  at 
this  time,  after  the  fall  of  Napoleon,  lots  were  no 
longer  drawn.  This  man,  therefore,  needed  someone 
to  help  him,  since  his  w^ife  always  had  a  nursing  child 
on  her  arm  and  four  or  five  children  about  her  skirts, 
and  was  consequently  of  no  use.  So  he  engaged  my 
mother  at  six  sous  a  day  with  food.  But  when  she 
suggested  bringing  me,  as  she  had  done  with  Geral, 
he  told  her  sternly  that  there  wxre  already  enough 
children  at  his  house  to  drive  him  mad,  that  there 
were  even  too  many  of  them,  and  that  for  this  reason 
he  did  not  want  any  more. 

My  mother  was  full  of  despair,  but  I  told  her  not 
to  fret  on  my  account,  that  I  could  quite  well  stay 
by  myself  at  the  tile- works  without  being  frightened. 
All  the  same,  she  was  not  satisfied;  but,  as  we  say 
in  the  country,  "necessity  makes  old  age  trot;"  the 
poor  cannot  often  follow  their  desires,  and  she  had 
to  resign  herself  to  it. 

Every  morning,  therefore,  at  daybreak,  she  went 


98  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

off  to  Marance,  a  trip  of  about  three-quarters  of  an 
hour.  As  for  me,  I  was  left  to  myself.  The  first  day 
I  scarcely  left  the  house  and  its  vicinity,  but  I  quickly 
grew  tired  of  being  shut  up  at  home,  and  ventured 
into  the  forest.  I  was  not  afraid  of  the  wolves,  know- 
ing well  that  at  this  season,  when  they  could  find 
dogs,  sheep,  geese  and  chickens  to  eat,  they  were  not 
dangerous  to  men,  and  that  they  slept  in  their  dens 
in  the  forest  when  they  were  fed,  or  went  prowling 
far  off  among  the  flocks.  Besides,  in  my  pocket  I 
had  my  father's  knife,  fastened  to  the  end  of  a  string. 
The  knife,  and  a  stick,  cut  short  so  I  could  wield  it, 
gave  me  boldness.  As  for  robbers,  it  was  said  indeed 
that  they  hid  in  the  forest,  but  I  never  thought  of 
them.  That  is  one  anxiety  from  which  the  poor  are 
free;  unfortunately,  plenty  of  others  are  left  for  them. 
It  seems  that  in  ancient  times  the  forest  was  much 
vaster  and  more  extensive  than  it  is  at  present,  for  it 
stretched  over  the  parishes  of  Fossemagne,  Milhac, 
Saint-Geyrac,  Cendrieux,  Ladouze,  Mortemart,  Rouf- 
fignac,  and  Bars,  and  came  even  to  the  gates  of  The- 
non.  Even  at  this  time,  when  I  was  a  small  boy,  the 
forest,  although  not  as  large  as  formerly,  was  never- 
theless more  extensive  than  it  is  to-day,  for  a  great 
deal  of  it  has  since  been  cleared.  It  was  divided,  as 
it  is  now,  into  several  districts  having  special  names, — 
the  forest  of  THerm,  the  forest  of  Lac-Gendre,  the 
forest  of  La  Granval.  But  when  people  spoke  of  all 
these  woods,  which  were  close  together,  they  said,  as 
they  still  say,  the  ''Barade  Forest,"  which  means,  in 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  99 

other  words,  the  "Closed  Forest,"  because  it  belonged 
to  the  lords  of  Thenon,  of  La  Mothe,  and  THerm, 
who  forbade  the  bringing  of  flocks  of  sheep  into  it. 

The  woods  were  not  everywhere  in  any  too  good 
condition,  at  the  time  we  lived  at  the  tile-works;  at 
one  time  they  had  been  burned  in  several  places,  and 
it  was  said  that  when  the  old  nobleman  to  whom 
almost  all  these  woods  belonged  at  the  time  of  the 
Revolution  had  been  ruined,  he  had  cut  down  all  the 
big  trees  and  other  timber  before  it  was  ready,  and 
had  finally  sold  the  greater  part  of  his  forest  for  a 
scrap  of  bread.  In  spite  of  that,  a  few  years  later 
you  could  still  find  dense  undergrowths  and  beautiful 
trees  in  places  that  were  difficult  to  utilize.  There 
were  secluded  spots  in  forgotten  hollows,  dense 
thickets  of  gorse  and  broom  and  heather,  intermixed 
with  brambles  and  brakes  which  seemed  like  little 
trees.  It  was  in  these  impenetrable  thickets  that  the 
wild  boars,  called  in  patois  "porcs-singlars,"  had  their 
lairs,  from  which  they  came  out  at  night  to  root  in 
beet  and  potato  fields  about  the  villages.  You  scarcely 
ever  saw  them  by  day,  unless  they  were  chased  by  the 
Count's  hounds,  except  for  an  occasional  sow,  cross- 
ing a  distant  clearing,  followed  by  her  young  trotting 
after  her. 

Two  roads  traversed  the  forest:  the  great  royal 
Bordeaux-Brives  highway,  running  also  from  Li- 
moges to  Bergerac,  which  passed  by  THerm  and  La 
Croix-du-Ruchard,  where  it  branched  into  a  road  run- 
ning  from  Rouffignac  through  the  dense  woods  to 


100  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

Jarriplgier  and  thence  to  Thenon ;  the  other,  ihe  great 
highway  running  from  Angouleme  to  Sarlat,  which 
passed  through  Milhac-d'Auberoche  near  Lac-Negre 
to  Lac-Gendre,  and  a  quarter  of  a  league  from  Las 
Motras  crossed  the  Bordeaux-Brives  road  and  went  on 
towards  Auriac,  passing  to  the  left  of  Bars. 

These  roads  were  not  kept  up  like  the  roads  of 
to-day.  The  two  principal  ones  at  least  were  only 
broad  tracks,  forty  or  forty-eight  feet  wide,  as  can 
still  be  seen  from  the  sections  which  remain  where 
those  whose  property  borders  upon  them  have  not 
made  encroachments.  They  went  straight  up  and 
downhill  without  any  cutting  or  filling;  in  some  places 
washed  out,  in  others  grass-grown ;  leading  straight  to 
their  destinations  without  any  detour ;  melancholy  and 
grandiose  among  the  wide,  dark  woods  that  bordered 
them.  Sometimes,  as  one  looked  at  these  roads 
stretching  into  the  distance  for  perhaps  half  a  league 
straight  to  the  summit  of  a  hill,  without  a  traveler, 
without  a  pedestrian  in  sight,  stony,  bare  or  green, 
overgrown  here  and  there  with  wild  plants  or  low- 
growing  heather,  there  would  suddenly  appear  on  this 
deserted,  ruined  highway,  the  mules  of  the  Treasury 
service,  escorted  by  the  marshal's  mounted  gendarmes, 
carrying  in  the  King's  strong-boxes  the  money  from 
the  poll-  and  salt-taxes.  Elsewhere,  in  a  wild  valley 
through  which  the  road  passed,  there  would  be  a  dis- 
mal bottom  land,  damp  in  summer,  a  bog  in  winter, 
remote  from  any  dwelling,  in  the  midst  of  the  woods 
and  surrounded  by  dense  thickets.     When  night  fell, 


JACQUOU  T^IE  E?:m:L  191 

you  would  begin  to  look  about  you  as  If  you  felt 
that  highway  robbers  might  step  out  from  a  dark 
clump  of  trees.  Along  these  wide  roads,  there  were 
tracks  made  by  carts  that  carried  off  the  great  logs, — 
tracks  which  were  effaced  after  the  logging  was  over, 
and  little  poachers'  paths  which  plunged  into  the 
undergrowth,  wound  about  through  the  thickets,  fol- 
lowed the  valleys,  turned  about  the  little  hills,  or 
crossed  one  another  at  their  summits,  where  there  were 
good  places  to  watch  for  hares. 

One  met  scarcely  anyone  in  the  woods.  Sometimes 
in  the  evening  one  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  peasant  in 
his  blue  cotton  cap,  wearing  hay-filled  sabots  in  win- 
ter, barefoot  in  summer,  hiding  the  lock  of  his  gun 
under  his  torn  vest,  plunging  into  the  undergrowth 
on  his  way  in  the  moonlight  to  post  himself  at  the 
border  of  a  clearing,  there  to  lie  in  wait  for  the  hare 
when  he  left  his  burrow  and  went  out  to  the  pasture. 
Or,  you  would  sometimes  see  him  at  a  cross-roads 
haunted  by  wolves,  waiting,  hidden  behind  a  tuft  of 
broom,  for  the  sharp-eared  beast  which  comes  out  in 
the  middle  of  the  night  to  bay  dismally,  his  muzzle 
raised  towards  the  moon.  In  the  daytime,  at  long  in- 
tervals, you  might  find  a  wood-guard  on  these  little 
paths,  his  badge  on  his  arm,  come  to  give  orders  for 
some  heather  to  be  cleared  or  wood  cut.  And  still 
more  rarely,  a  file  of  five  or  six  mules,  carrying  char- 
coal for  the  forge  at  Eyzies. 

Like  all  the  children  in  our  neighborhood,  I  climbed 
like  a  squirrel.     At  times  when  I  found  a  great  tree 


10-2  JACQUOU  'THE  REBEL 

on  the  summit  of  a  high  ridge,  I  mounted  to  the  very 
top  and  looked  out  over  the  immensity  of  the  woods, 
stretching  out  of  sight  over  the  uplands,  the  hills,  the 
guUied  ravines.  Here  and  there  in  a  clearing  there 
would  be  an  isolated  house  on  the  edge  of  the  forest, 
a  pointed  clock-tower  above  dark  masses  of  woods, 
or  the  smoke  of  a  charcoal  burner,  floating  heavily 
like  a  thick  fog  over  the  hills  and  valleys.  On  almost 
all  sides,  knolls,  hills,  and  valleys  mingled  together  and 
rose  tier  on  tier  towards  the  plateaus  of  upper  Peri- 
gord,  while  far  away  to  the  south  beyond  La  Vezere 
the  great  hills  of  black  Perigord  shut  off  the  bluish 
horizon.  About  me  there  would  be  no  sound  except 
sometimes  the  frightened  beating  of  a  bird's  wing  or 
a  stir  in  the  underbrush,  where  a  fox  trotted  past,  his 
tail  drooping.  Far  off  there  would  be  the  faint  bark- 
ing of  a  dog  following  the  trail  of  a  hare,  or  the  horn 
of  some  hunter  calling  his  beagles,  or  perhaps  the 
pitiful  lowing  of  a  cow  after  her  calf  which  had  been 
given  to  the  Thenon  butcher. 

Then,  when  noon  came,  the  Angelus  would  ring 
from  all  the  belfries  about,  Fossemagne,  Thenon,  Bars, 
Rouffignac,  Saint-Gey rac,  Milhac-d'Auberoche,  and 
the  music  of  all  these  bells  of  varying  depths  of  tone 
spread  out  over  the  silent  forest.  I  would  stay  there 
perched  in  my  tree  for  hours,  dreaming  of  those 
vague  things  that  pass  through  the  heads  of  children, 
smelling  the  wild  odors  that  rose  from  the  forest,  that 
vast  herbarium  of  wild  plants,  warmed  by  the  sun, 
listening  to  the  cuckoo  calling  from  the  depths  of  the 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  lOS 

woods,  answered  by  another  whose  note  came  from 
far  away  like  a  faint  echo.  At  other  times  would 
come  the  mew  of  a  jay  that  had  learned  during  the 
cherry  season  to  imitate  the  cats  about  the  house,  and 
that  flew  off  quickly  on  catching  sight  of  me. 

I  loved  this  solitude  and  half -silence  which,  without 
my  realizing  it,  softened  the  cruel  memories  of  my 
poor  father.  Every  day,  while  my  mother  worked  at 
Marance,  I  roamed  the  woods,  eating  a  meal  ball  or 
bit  of  bread,  which  I  carried  in  my  pocket,  stuffing 
myself  with  wild  fruits,  drinking  from  the  little  pools 
of  water  where  the  rain  had  collected — for  there  are 
hardly  any  springs  in  the  forest — and  sleeping  on  the 
grass  when  I  was  tired.  Not  very  far  from  Las 
Motras,  in  a  hollow,  is  the  little  lake  called  Le  Gour; 
they  say  that  they  have  never  been  able  to  find  its 
bottom,  but  perhaps  they  have  never  tried  very  hard. 
At  this  time,  Le  Gour  was  surrounded  by  dense  under- 
brush and  the  water  slept  there,  tranquil  and  clear, 
shadowed  by  the  great  trees  which  it  reflected, — ashes, 
beeches,  maples  and  sturdy  oaks.  There  was  even  a 
silver  aspen  leaning  over  the  little  lake,  come  there 
by  chance,  the  leaves  of  which  shivered  with  a  light 
rustle  like  that  of  an  insect*s  wing.  I  sometimes  went 
there  to  lie  under  the  high  ferns,  and  when  the  sun 
began  to  sink  and  a  male  turtledove  nearby  cooed 
amorously,  I  watched  the  birds,  thirsty  from  the  heat 
of  the  day,  which  came  there  to  drink.  They  were 
of  all  species — jays,  orioles,  blackbirds,  thrushes, 
finches,  linnets,  tomtits,  robins,  warblers.    They  came 


104  "     JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

on  the  wing,  lighting  on  a  branch,  turning  their  heads 
to  right  and  left;  but  when  they  saw  there  was  no 
danger,  they  flew  down  to  the  edge  of  Le  Gour  and 
sipped  the  water,  tilting  their  beaks  in  the  air  so  that 
it  could  run  down.  At  times  some  of  them  would 
bathe,  flashing  their  wings  like  children  beating  the 
water  in  their  bath.  And  afterwards  they  would 
shake  themselves  dry  and  plume  their  feathers. 

It  seemed  to  me,  on  whom  always  weighed,  though 
less  heavily  now,  my  father's  misfortune, — it  seemed 
to  me,  I  say,  that  these  little  creatures,  free  in  the 
forest,  were  very  fortunate,  having  no  care  of  any 
sort,  rising  and  going  to  roost  with  the  sun,  sleeping 
tranquilly,  their  little  crops  well  supplied,  their  heads 
under  their  wings.  It  occurred  to  me  on  second 
thoughts,  however,  that  in  winter  they  were  none  too 
well  off.  When  it  was  freezing  hard  and  the  snow 
was  deep,  then  many  of  them  must  have  to  fast. 
Blackbirds,  thrushes  and  jays  can  always  find  a  few 
juniper  berries,  but  the  other  poor  little  birds  cannot 
find  any  more  seeds  or  insects  to  pick  up,  and  if  the 
snow  lasts  and  the  cold  is  severe,  on  nights  when  it 
is  freezing  hard  enough  to  split  the  stones,  weakened 
by  hunger,  they  must  fall  dead  from  the  branch  and 
lie  there,  beak  open,  feathers  rufifled,  feet  stiff.  At 
other  times,  a  fierce  cat  climbs  the  tree  in  the  dark- 
ness and  carries  them  off,  or  a  hunter  comes  with  his 
lantern  while  they  are  all  asleep,  and  with  a  blow  of 
his  stick  knocks  down  those  that  have  imprudently 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  105 

perched  too  low.  Ah!  there  iS  misery  for  everything 
that  lives  on  earth. 

On  Sundays  my  mother  stayed  at  the  tile-v^orks, 
well  satisfied  to  be  with  me,  and  occupied  herself  with 
patching  up  our  poor  garments;  they  needed  it  sadly, 
especially  mine,  for  one  can  imagine  that  v^ith  such  a 
life  in  the  woods,  scrambling  through  briars,  climbing 
trees,  my  trousers  and  my  shirts  had  a  rough  time  of 
it.  On  that  day  she  made  the  soup  with  something 
that  had  been  given  her,  or  with  some  red  beans,  and 
it  seemed  good  to  eat  that  way  together,  each  of  us 
having  been  alone  the  whole  week.  Necessity  early 
teaches  the  children  of  the  poor;  when  I  was  alone, 
if  a  little  bouillon  remained  I  sometimes  warmed  it  up 
and  poured  it  over  the  bread,  in  a  small  soup  dish ;  but 
ordinarily  I  preferred  to  run  about. 

With  this  I  ate  a  piece  of  bread  and  garlic,  taking 
sparingly  of  salt, — as  was  right,  for  it  was  dear, — • 
or  else  stewed  potatoes,  some  corn  meal  balls,  and 
then  the  fruits  that  grew  on  the  wild  trees,  sowed  by 
the  birds  in  the  woods;  cherries,  sorb-apples,  or 
even  small  peaches  found  in  the  abandoned  orchard 
at  the  edge  of  the  forest.  Sometimes  my  mother 
brought  me,  in  the  pocket  of  her  apron,  a  bit  of  hasty- 
pudding,  of  which  she,  poor  woman,  had  deprived 
herself.  But  she  had  to  hide  it,  for  the  man  at 
Marance,  who  begrudged  even  the  bread  that  was 
eaten,  would  have  been  angry  had  he  noticed  it.  In 
spite  of  all,  I  throve  like  a  tree  planted  in  good  soil, 


10(5  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

and  I  grew  strong:  although  I  was  only  eight  years 
old,  I  looked  ten.  My  understanding  also  was  well 
formed;  I  spoke  with  my  mother  about  things  of 
which  children  are  usually  ignorant,  and  I  understood 
matters  above  my  years:  I  think  that  poverty  and 
unhappiness  had  opened  my  mind. 

There  are  some  who  will  say: 

"Then  you  lived  like  the  Huguenots !  You  did  not 
go  to  mass  on  Sunday,  or  to  vespers?" 

Well  no,  we  did  not  go.  My  mother,  poor  woman, 
believed  firmly  in  heaven  and  hell.  She  knew  well 
that  she  was  damning  herself  by  doing  as  she  did; 
indeed,  she  could  not  fail  to  do  so,  for  the  cure,  meet- 
ing her  one  evening  when  she  was  on  her  way  home, 
tired  out  with  her  day's  work,  had  reproached  her  for 
it,  saying  that  not  to  go  to  mass,  not  to  confess,  nor 
to  take  the  Sacrament  on  Easter,  was  to  live  like  an 
outcast.  No,  she  did  not  go  to  church,  and  she  said 
she  did  not  take  me  because  she  had  not  the  time. 
But  there  was  really  another  reason.  If  the  truth 
must  be  told,  she  had  fallen  out  with  the  good  God: 
she  was  angry  at  him,  and  especially  at  the  holy  Virgin, 
because  my  father  had  been  condemned.  She  quite 
agreed  that  he  should  have  been  punished,  but  not 
by  death,  for  the  true  culprits,  those  who  had  driven 
him  to  such  a  pass,  were  the  Count,  who  had  given 
the  unjust  and  wicked  order  to  kill  our  dog,  and  then 
that  scoundrel  of  a  Labor ie,  who  had  pursued  her 
with  his  dishonorable  proposals.    I  say,  punished  with 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  107 

death,  for  at  that  time  things  were  not  as  they  are 
now,  when  the  convicts  are  better  cared  for  and  hap- 
pier over  there  on  the  islands  than  are  the  poor  folk 
at  home.  Those  who  survived  for  ten  years  that  life 
in  the  galleys  had  strong  frames;  the  greater  part 
died  before  that,  especially  those  who  were  sent  to 
Rochefort,  in  the  marshes  of  La  Charente.  And  it 
was  precisely  there  that  they  had  sent  my  father,  at 
the  request  of  the  Comte  de  Nansac,  as  M.  Fongrave 
had  informed  us.  At  first,  when  they  told  us  that 
Rochefort  was  nearer  the  tile-works  than  Brest  or 
Toulon,  we  were  pleased,  as  if  it  were  not  all  the 
same  to  us  whether  we  were  separated  by  fifty  or  a 
hundred  or  two  hundred  leagues.  But  since  then  I 
have  learned  from  a  sailor  from  Saint-Leon  that  it 
was  there  they  sent  those  they  wished  to  be  rid  of. 

As  for  my  poor  father,  he  did  not  last  long.  Work- 
ing all  day  in  the  mud  of  the  river,  fed  on.  bad  beans, 
chained  at  night  to  a  plank  bed,  he  caught  the  terrible 
fevers  of  the  convict  ship.  And  then  the  loss  of  his 
liberty  and  his  grief  undermined  him  more  than  his 
illness,  so  that  at  the  end  of  a  few  months  the  wretched 
man  died,  broken-hearted.  On  All  Saints'  Eve,  the 
mayor  summoned  my  mother  and  said  to  her  brutally, 
before  the  cure,  who  was  with  him  in  the  square  before 
the  church: 

"Your  husband  died  over  there  a  fortnight  ago. 
You  can  have  some  masses  said  for  him.'* 

"The  poor  do  not  need  them,"  replied  my  mother. 
"They  have  their  hell  on  this  earth." 


108  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

And  she  went  off. 

It  was  pitch  dark  when  she  reached  the  tile-works, 
where  I  was  waiting  in  the  chimney-corner,  roasting 
some  chestnuts  in  the  ashes  for  my  supper.  Without 
speaking  to  me,  she  unwrapped  the  kerchief  from  her 
head,  and,  tying  it  up  again,  turned  under  the  corner 
that  had  been  pulled  in  front. 

I  must  explain  that  formerly  there  were  different 
ways  of  dressing  the  head  with  the  kerchief:  young 
girls  let  a  long  end  hang  behind  over  the  neck,  as  if 
they  were  fishing  for  a  husband;  wives,  proud  to 
possess  a  man,  brought  this  end  ostentatiously 
forward  over  the  ear;  while  the  poor  widows,  deso- 
late in  their  bereavement,  concealed  it  under  their 
head-dress.  After  this  explanation,  it  can  be  under- 
stood that  the  arrangement  of  this  corner  of  the  ker- 
chief in  a  certain  fashion  was  the  emblem  of  the  mar- 
riage the  girls  desired,  the  wives  possessed,  and  the 
widows  regretted, — all  this  quite  simply  and  without 
thought  of  wrong. 

At  this  time  I  did  not  understand  what  that  hand- 
kerchief corner  signified,  and  I  watched  my  mother, 
full  of  astonishment.  When  she  had  finished,  she 
took  a  gibe,  a  sort  of  strong  pruning-hook  on  a  long 
handle,  and  with  my  hand  in  hers  led  me  out  through 
the  forest. 

She  walked  with  rapid  steps  that  made  me  almost 
run, — silent,  fierce,  gripping  my  hand  in  hers  with  a 
strong,  firm  pressure.  She  did  not  know  the  forest 
as  well  as  M'ion's  husband  did,  and  besides,  the  idea 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  109 

that  drove  her  on  prevented  her  from  directing  her 
steps  properly  in  the  dark;  consequently,  wishing  to 
go  to  THerm,  she  went  a  good  deal  too  far  to  the 
right,  toward  Lac-Negre.  Seeing  this  and  realizing 
that  she  had  lost  her  way,  my  mother  turned  directly 
southward.  All  this  time  we  walked  on  without  a 
word,  I  expecting  something  serious  to  come  out  of 
this  long  silence,  and  troubled  in  advance  at  the 
thought  of  some  terrible  revelation.  In  the  woods,  the 
leaves,  shaken  by  a  damp  wind,  fell  at  the  foot  of  the 
trees;  sometimes,  lifted  by  a  gust,  whirled  about  in 
the  darkness,  they  passed  over  our  heads  like  an  in- 
numerable flock  of  starlings,  borne  by  a  gale.  In  the 
paths,  strewn  with  dead  leaves,  pools  of  water  like 
dark  mirrors,  in  which  nothing  was  reflected,  splashed 
under  our  sabots.  And  we  kept  walking  rapidly  with 
great  strides,  my  mother  with  her  bag  on  her  shoulder, 
dragging  me  along  beside  her,  both  of  us  enveloped 
in  the  sinister  darkness  of  the  woods.  Finally,  about 
eleven  o'clock,  we  saw  the  pointed  roofs  of  the 
Chateau  de  I'Herm  rising  in  the  black  sky  at  the  edge 
of  the  forest,  and  my  mother  hastened  her  steps,  en- 
circling the  slopes  to  avoid  the  village.  When  we 
came  out  in  the  open,  we  saw  that  the  sky  was  gray, 
with  great  clouds  in  black  bands  over  it,  flying  to- 
wards the  west,  driven  across  by  the  wind.  We 
reached  the  moat  of  the  enclosure,  which  my  mother 
skirted,  and,  stopping  opposite  the  outer  door,  her  head 
high,  her  eyes  shining,  her  skirts  whipped  by  the 
wind,  she  said  to  me: 


no  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

"My  boy,  your  father  is  dead  over  there  in  the 
galleys,  killed  by  the  master  of  Nansac.  You  are 
going  to  swear  to  avenge  him !    Do  as  I  do." 

And  following  the  ancient  rite  for  solemn  oaths, 
used  among  the  peasants  of  Perigord  for  untold  years, 
she  spat  in  her  right  hand,  made  a  cross  in  the  spittle 
with  the  first  finger  of  the  left,  and  stretched  the  open 
hand  out  towards  the  chateau. 

"Vengeance  against  the  Nansacs!"  she  said  three 
times,  in  a  loud  voice.  As  for  me,  I  followed  her,  and 
repeated  three  times: 

"Vengeance  against  the  Nansacs!" 

That  done  (while  the  big  dogs  were  howling  in  the 
kennels),  skirting  the  houses  and  the  sleeping  village, 
we  made  for  the  old  royal  highway  that  passes  close 
by  THerm  and  crosses  the  woods,  going  towards 
Thenon.  Three-quarters  of  an  hour  later,  we  were 
at  Croix-de-Ruchard,  which  is  now  on  the  edge  of 
the  forest,  and  leaving  La  Salvetat  on  the  right,  we 
reentered  the  wood  of  La  Granval,  following  the 
paths,  in  order  to  return  to  the  tile-works,  where  we 
arrived  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

At  the  age  at  which  I  then  was,  sleep  was  almost 
as  much  of  a  necessity  as  food  and  drink.  When  I 
awoke  the  next  morning,  it  was  broad  daylight,  and 
I  was  alone  in  the  bed,  my  mother  having  left  early 
for  work.  I  stayed  there  a  moment  watching  at  the 
other  end  of  our  hovel  a  fine  rain  that  was  falling 
through  the  crumbling  tile-works,  making  a  puddle  on 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  111 

the  ground.  I  thought  of  all  the  misfortunes  that  had 
befallen  us.  Although  the  death  of  my  father  was 
a  great  blow  to  me,  it  had  not  been  a  surprise,  for 
my  mother  and  I  had  both  expected  it.  We  often 
spoke  together  about  what  that  hell  of  the  galleys 
must  be  like,  and  we  imagined  things  so  terrible  and 
at  the  same  time  so  true  that  death  could  be  thought 
of  only  as  a  deliverance.  Think  of  being  reduced 
to  choosing  death  for  those  we  love!  How  tragic! 
And  what  a  fierce  hatred  stirred  in  me  against  the 
Nansacs,  who  were  to  me  like  one  of  those  nests  of 
twisted  vipers  which  I  sometimes  found  in  the  forest! 
It  was  a  relief  after  these  sad  thoughts  to  have  in 
my  heart  that  strong  feeling  of  gratitude  towards 
M.  Fongrave,  who  had  been  so  good  to  us.  As  long 
as  we  did  not  in  some  way  show  this  gratitude  towards 
my  father's  lawyer,  I  felt  I  should  not  be  easy  in  my 
mind.  As  I  tried  to  think  of  something  we  could  do, 
it  occurred  to  me  that  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  send 
him  a  hare.  Then  I  remembered  that  in  the  drawer 
of  the  cabmet  there  were  some  snares,  or  strands  of 
brass  wire,  which  my  father  used  to  use.  I  jumped 
hastily  out  of  bed,  and  put  on  my  trousers,  which 
were  held  up  by  a  piece  of  string  I  had  made  out  of 
hemp.  I  went  to  the  drawer,  and  was  delighted  to 
find  a  dozen  snares.  Without  waiting  longer  I  took 
up  a  mique  and  went  off,  eating  it,  to  look  for  the 
hares'  runways,  where  I  could  set  the  snares.  After 
hunting  carefully  about,  I  noticed  three  tracks  that 
were  fairly  well-frequented,  and  that  evening,  having 


in  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

set  three  of  the  snares,  I  hid  them  in  a  handful  of 
ferns  and  when  the  sun  was  sinking  went  out  to  place 
them.  The  first  I  put  in  the  passage,  two  steps  from 
the  runway,  and  attached  it  to  a  strong  oak  shoot. 
Another  I  set  on  the  edge  of  the  wood,  at  a  spot  where 
I  knew  the  hares  often  passed  on  their  way  to  spend 
the  night  in  the  fields  about  the  villages.  And  the 
third  I  placed  at  the  crossing  of  two  little  runways, 
which  seemed  to  be  a  good  post  for  people  hunting 
with  dogs. 

Very  early  the  next  morning,  I  went  off  to  see  my 
snares,  but  there  was  nothing  in  them.  The  day  after, 
still  nothing!  The  third  day  I  found  I  had  lost  a 
snare,  carried  off  doubtless  by  some  warden;  in  the 
other  traps  there  was  nothing  as  yet.  I  realized  now 
that  I  was  not  a  very  clever  poacher,  but  for  all  that 
I  was  not  at  all  discouraged.  And  in  this  I  was  jus- 
tified, for  on  the  fourth  day,  as  I  approached  my  last 
snare,  I  saw  something  gray  on  the  tiny  path.  I 
started  to  run  towards  it.  And  behold,  there  was  a 
fine  hare,  stretched  out  dead,  the  skin  still  damp  from 
the  night's  dew.  I  picked  it  up  and  raced  home.  That 
evening,  when  my  mother  came,  I  showed  her  the 
hare,  telling  her  that  I  had  caught  it  for  M.  Fongrave. 
She  said  that  that  was  admirable,  we  must  never  for- 
get those  who  had  been  good  to  us,  or  those  who  had 
done  us  harm  either. 

There  was  no  danger  of  my  forgetting  that;  but 
what  could  I  do,  I,  a  boy  of  eight?  How  could  I 
take  vengeance  for  my  father's  death  on  these  Nansac 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  US 

gentry?  They  were  rich  and  powerful;  the  land  be- 
longed to  them;  they  had  a  chateau  which  could  not 
be  entered  against  their  will;  servants,  armed  guards. 
And  I  was  poor  and  despised.  I  thought  this  over 
often,  without  being  able  to  imagine  any  means, — a 
proof  that  my  character  was  not  naturally  disposed  to 
evil.  On  the  following  Tuesday,  as  I  was  going  to 
Thenon  with  my  mother,  to  try  to  send  the  hare  to 
M.  Fongrave,  we  came  across  a  man  who  was  carry- 
ing a  gun  by  a  strap  and  leading  by  a  cord  a  poor 
beagle  whose  neck  was  all  flayed.  As  we  walked  we 
talked,  and  among  other  things  the  man  told  us  that 
his  dog  had  been  caught  in  a  snare,  but  that  fortu- 
nately, as  he  was  close  by  cutting  heather,  he  had 
heard  it  yelping  and  had  pulled  it  out  of  the  trap, 
half  strangled.  On  hearing  this,  it  occurred  to  me 
that  the  Comte  de  Nansac  often  hunted  in  the  forest, 
and  that  I  could  kill  his  dogs  by  this  same  means.  And 
the  thought  made  me  happy. 

At  Thenon  my  mother  found  a  merchant  from 
Perigueux,  with  a  shop  on  the  Place  de  la  Clautre, 
who  often  came  to  the  markets  on  Tuesday  with  two 
pack-mules  carrying  his  goods.  This  man  said  he 
knew  M.  Fongrave,  who  had  pleaded  a  case  for  him, 
and  he  promised  surely  to  deliver  the  hare  to  him  the 
next  day.  On  the  strength  of  this  assurance,  we  re- 
turned to  the  tile-works.  In  order  not  to  meet  the 
gentlefolk  of  Nansac,  out  hunting,  or  their  guards,  I 
seldom  went  into  the  forest  of  I'Herm,  which  be- 
longed to  them.    But  one  evening,  having  found  some 


114  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

favorable  spots,  I  placed  my  snares,  doubled  and  well- 
fastened  to  strong  oak  saplings,  and  came  running 
home.  The  next  day  was  hunting  day,  and  from  far 
off  I  heard  at  times  the  horn  of  the  head  huntsman 
and  the  baying  of  dogs.  Of  what  had  happened  that 
day  I  knew  nothing,  and  I  was  furious  when  the  next 
day,  in  the  forest  of  La  Granval  just  between  Maure- 
zies  and  Lac-Viel,  I  met  the  head  huntsman  of 
THerm,  who  was  blowing  his  horn.  He  asked  me  if 
I  had  not  seen  a  big  black  and  white  dog,  marked  with 
yellow  on  the  feet  and  above  the  eyes.  I  answered, 
no,  and  he  went  off,  spurring  his  horse.  In  the  vil- 
lages about  the  forest  word  went  about  that  Taiaut, 
the  leader  of  the  pack,  was  lost.  I  said  nothing,  but 
I  suspected  that  he  might  be  lying  dead,  strangled, 
at  the  foot  of  a  little  oak,  over  there  in  the  Combe- 
du-Loup.  I  had  a  strong  desire  to  make  sure,  but 
the  fear  of  being  discovered  and  of  drawing  suspicion 
on  myself,  restrained  me.  Losing  patience,  however. 
on  Sunday  at  the  hour  of  mass,  when  I  was  sure  that 
everyone,  masters  and  servants  alike,  would  be  in 
church,  I  ran  to  the  Combe-du-Loup.  Aha!  There 
was  the  head  of  Taiaut  on  the  ground  in  the  path; 
all  the  rest  of  him  had  disappeared,  eaten  by  the 
wolves.     He  had  paid  for  that  dog  of  ours. 

I  quickly  undid  the  snare  and  came  away,  proud 
and  pleased  with  the  beginning  of  our  vengeance.  At 
the  chateau  no  one  suspected  anything,  and  when,  a 
few  days  later,  Mascret  found  the  head  of  Taiaut  half 
eaten  by  ants,  they  thought  the  dog,  which  had  not 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  115 

come  back  with  the  others,  must  have  been  caught  at 
night  by  the  wolves. 

I  said  I  was  pleased :  one  thing,  however,  troubled 
me.  It  was  that  the  Count  did  not  know  that  it  was 
I  who  had  done  the  deed.  Some  fine  day,  I  thought, 
I  will  tell  him ;  but  now  it  is  too  dangerous.  The  death 
of  my  father  had  not  appeased  him;  on  the  contrary, 
he  still  tried  to  do  us  harm,  to  take  the  bread  out 
of  our  mouths,  and  drive  us  out  of  the  country.  First, 
he  tried  to  buy  the  tile-works  where  we  lived.  But 
the  man  who  owned  it,  like  everyone  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, had  little  love  for  him,  and  refused  to  sell. 
Not  having  succeeded  in  this,  he  conceived  the  idea 
of  having  the  son  of  Tapy,  over  there  where  my 
mother  was  working,  brought  back :  the  latter  had  had 
enough  of  the  hardships  of  the  regiment,  although  he 
had  enlisted  voluntarily.  The  Count  managed  it  so 
well  that  he  was  dismissed,  on  what  pretext  I  do  not 
know;  but  in  those  days  such  noblemen  as  he  could 
do  anything  they  wished. 

Here,  then,  was  my  mother  again  without  work, 
and  wondering  where  she  was  to  get  her  daily  bread. 
Just  at  this  juncture,  as  if  in  response  to  the  Count's 
wickedness,  another  of  his  dogs  was  caught  in  a  snare; 
but  this  time  it  was  found,  and  Mascret  said: 

'Tf  Martissou  were  not  dead  in  the  galleys,  I  would 
swear  that  it  was  he  who  placed  that  trap !" 

But  for  the  moment  that  suspicion  went  no  further ; 
they  believed  the  dog  had  got  himself  caught  in  a  trap 
set  for  hares,  as  occasionally  happens. 


116  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

A  fortnight  later,  however,  Mascret,  who  had  his 
own  idea  about  it,  finding  me  in  the  forest,  drew  the 
wire  out  of  his  game-bag,  and  said  to  me: 
"Do  you  recognize  that?" 

Rage  at  all  the  shameful  deeds  of  the  Count  rose 
in  me  all  at  once. 

'Tes,  well!"  I  said.    'It  was  I  who  set  it!" 
''Ah !  you  cursed,  wicked  rascal !    I'll  teach  you !" 
But,  jumping  back,  I,  at  the  same  instant,  opened 
my  knife,  ready  to  plant  it  in  the  guard's  abdomen : 
"Come  on!    If  you  are  not  a  coward!" 
When  Mascret  saw  me  thus,  my  brows  knit,  my 
eyes  blazing,  my  mouth  running,  showing  my  teeth 
like  a  young  wolf  about  to  bite,  he  was  frightened,  and 
with  many  threats  went  off. 

However,  winter  had  come;  the  finches  were  as- 
sembling in  great  flocks,  the  tomtits  left  the  woods  for 
the  gardens,  the  thrushes  came  down  into  the  fields, 
and  the  robins  gathered  about  the  houses.  That  is  the 
season  when  one  rakes  the  leaves  in  the  chestnut 
groves,  cleans  out  the  furrows  in  the  fields,  picks  up 
the  acorns,  and  does  other  small  chores  like  that,  by 
which  people  pass  the  time:  there  was  no  work  for 
day  laborers  these  days.  Seeing,  therefore,  that  she 
would  be  without  work  otherwise,  my  mother,  who 
was  a  good  spinner,  sought  here  and  there  for  hemp 
to  spin,  and  found  a  little.  She  put  a  dry,  raw  chest- 
nut in  her  mouth  to  make  saliva,  and  in  this  way  spun 
from  morning  till  night,  earning  scarcely  three  sous 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  117 

a  day:  it  was  not  enough  to  buy  us  the  bread  we 
needed.  Fortunately,  the  man  to  whom  the  tile-works 
belonged  had  given  us  permission  to  gather  chestnuts 
on  shares,  so  that  we  had  about  two  sacks  full  on  the 
heather  at  the  bottom  of  the  chest,  enough  to  assure 
OHf  not  dying  of  hunger  that  winter.  As  for  wood, 
we  had  plenty  of  it:  we  had  heaped  up  a  great  pile 
for  the  bad  season,  under  the  end  of  the  shed,  part 
of  which  was  still  weather-proof.  This  was  very  for- 
tunate when  the  snow  came  and  we  had  to  spend 
whole  days  in  the  chimney-corner.  To  amuse  myself, 
while  my  mother  spun  unceasingly,  I  tried  to  make 
birdcages,  my  only  instruments  being  my  knife  and 
a  small  iron  pin  which  I  heated  red-hot  in  order  to 
pierce  the  holes  in  the  bars. 

Winter,  they  say,  is  the  good  season  for  the  rich, 
but  with  the  poor  it  is  otherwise.  For  them,  however, 
there  is  no  good  season.  Those  who  have  to  earn 
their  living  are  still  more  miserable  when  there  is  no 
work  in  the  fields:  thus  it  is  with  the  poor  hirelings 
in  the  country, — they  have  to  go  without  work  when  it 
rains  or  snows,  and  often  go  without  food  as  well. 
Besides,  winter  is  the  titne  when  one  ought  to  be 
clothed  in  good,  stout  fustian,  or  in  good,  rough, 
woolen  drugget  to  keep  the  cold  off;  but  poor  folks 
are  obliged  to  pass  the  months  of  frost  in  their  sum- 
mer garments.  As  for  us,  in  this  hovel,  where  the 
rain  and  the  snow  fell  through  the  holes  of  the  tile- 
works  and  the  wind  too  rushed  in,  sometimes  putting 
out  the  lantern  that  hung  from  the  chimneypiece,  we 


118  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

were  far  from  well  off,  as  one  may  believe ;  especially 
as  our  clothes,  always  the  same,  worn  and  ragged, 
were  anything  but  warm.  So,  when  spring  came, 
when  the  wild  nut-trees  put  out  their  buds,  and  the 
box-trees  began  to  form  their  little  buttons,  it  was  as 
if  we  were  reborn  with  the  sun.  But  that  was  not 
everything;  he  had  to  eat,  and  in  order  to  eat,  we 
had  to  earn  money. 

What  makes  trouble  for  some  is  often  the  good 
fortune  of  others.  Towards  mid-Lent  Tapy's  wife 
fell  ill,  so  her  husband  asked  my  mother  to  go  there 
and  take  care  of  her  and  the  children,  and  look  after 
the  house.  The  poor  woman  was  in  bed  six  weeks, 
and  as  soon  as  she  could  get  up,  although  she  was 
quite  feeble,  she  had  to  resume  her  work.  For  Tapy 
was  a  little  stingy,  even  miserly;  to  be  obliged  to  pay 
a  woman  to  do  the  housework  while  he  had  a  woman 
of  his  own,  went  against  his  grain,  however  little  he 
paid  the  stranger.  So  he  was  angry  at  his  wife  for 
being  ill,  though  it  was  not  her  fault,  poor  soul ! 

And  again  my  mother  was  out  of  work.  At  the 
end  of  a  month  and  a  half  the  few  sous  she  had  made 
were  all  spent.  The  day  came  when  we  had  neither 
bread  nor  potatoes  left.  The  chestnuts  had  been 
finished  long  before;  there  was  no  more  fat,  and  we 
made  our  soup,  such  as  it  was,  with  a  bit  of  rancid 
oil.  Only,  at  the  bottom  of  the  sack,  a  little  corn  meal 
remained.  My  mother  kneaded  it  and  made  some 
miques,  which  she  cooked,  saying: 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  lid 

"When  these  are  finished,  we  shall  have  to  go  and 
beg  for  our  bread." 

When  I  heard  that,  I  cursed  the  Comte  de  Nansac, 
who  had  caused  my  father's  death  in  the  galleys  and 
wished  to  make  us  die  of  wretchedness.  I  repeated  to 
myself  what  I  had  often  heard  my  mother  say : 

*The  good  God  is  not  just  when  he  permits  that!" 

If  I  had  had  my  father's  gun,  which  they  had  kept 
at  the  court,  I  think  I  should  have  lain  in  wait  in 
the  forest  to  slay  this  wicked  nobleman,  like  a  wolf, 
when  he  passed  on  horseback  with  his  dogs,  crying 
out,  in  his  cold,  disdainful  way,  when  he  met  a  peasant 
on  the  road: 

"Out  of  my  way,  clodhopper!" 

As  I  pondered  all  these  painful  things,  confused  by 
my  misery,  it  occurred  to  me  that  we  were  on  the 
eve  of  the  feast  of  Saint  John.  In  our  part  of  the 
country  it  is  the  custom  to  light  a  fire  on  that  day 
at  the  crossroads  and  near  the  villages  and  the  isolated 
houses.  In  the  towns  they  prepare  a  fire  covered 
with  greens  and  leaves,  with  a  bunch  of  lilies  and 
roses  and  Saint  John's  wort  at  the  top,  which  later 
on  are  pulled  off.  Just  as  the  Druids,  in  former  times> 
celebrated  the  festival  of  the  solstice,  so  the  cure  came 
at  nightfall  to  bless  the  fire  with  a  rite;  at  least  this 
is  what  the  cure  of  Fanluc  did,  from  whom  I  learned 
about  it.  When  the  fire  was  nearly  out,  1!hose  who 
had  not  been  able  to  get  some  of  the  flowers  jumped 
over  the  flames  to  ward  off  boils  and  carried  off  the 
embers  to  protect  their  houses  from  lightning. 


120  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

At  the  time  when  we  were  living  at  Combenegre, 
from  which  I  could  see  the  hills  and  slopes  stretching 
far  away  in  the  distance,  I  loved  to  watch  the  innum- 
erable fires  on  that  evening.  Over  an  immense  reach 
of  country  they  shone  in  the  darkness,  to  the  very 
edge  of  the  horizon,  where  the  uncertain  wavering 
of  the  flame  almost  disappeared,  like  a  star  lost  in  the 
depths  of  the  sky.  On  the  hilltops  the  fires  would 
burn  down  and  go  out  sometimes  for  a  moment,  only 
to  be  revived  by  the  wind  and  fling  up  a  few  more 
flames  before  being  finally  extinguished ;  while  others, 
in  the  vigor  of  their  first  blazing,  mounted  in  the  black 
sky  like  tongues  of  flame. 

From  the  tile-works  in  the  middle  of  the  wood 
we  could  not  see  all  these  fires,  but  I  did  not  bother 
about  that,  for  just  as  I  had  thought  of  them,  like  a 
shot  an  idea  had  come  into  my  head.  This  idea  was 
to  set  fire  to  the  forest  of  THerm!  From  that  mo- 
ment I  thought  of  nothing  else;  at  night  I  dreamed 
of  it.  The  idea  was  not  the  perverse  resolve  of  a  child, 
who  took  pleasure  in  returning  evil  for  evil.  No. 
To  the  pitiless  warfare  of  the  Count  I  was  replying 
with  a  similar  warfare.  Not  being  able  to  kill  him — 
as  I  would  have  done  without  remorse — I  would  in- 
flict grave  damage  on  him.  I  would  be  keeping  my 
oath,  avenging  my  father.  This  thought  pleased  me. 
At  the  time  these  things  were  not  as  clear  in  my  mind 
as  they  seem  now  in  my  telling,  but  I  felt  them  all  the 
same. 

The  problem  was  how  to  accomplish  this.    All  day 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  121 

I  dreamed  over  it,  searching  for  methods,  weighing 
them,  comparing  them,  and  finally  deciding  on  the 
best,  that  is  to  say,  those  that  would  make  the  con- 
flagration bigger. 

The  first  point  I  had  to  consider  was  the  necessity 
of  waiting  for  a  day  when  there  was  a  high  wind; 
the  second,  that  the  wind  must  come  from  the  east, 
from  the  direction  of  Bars,  so  as  not  to  burn  the 
forest  of  La  Granval  or  that  of  Lac-Gendre — a  deed 
I  would  not  have  done  for  anything  in  the  world — 
but  only  that  of  I'Herm.  The  third  condition  was 
that  I  must  light  the  fire  in  some  spot  from  which  it 
could  easily  spread  to  all  the  woods  belonging  to 
the  Comte  de  Nansac,  for  if  I  made  several  fireplaces, 
I  should  arouse  suspicion.  Made  in  only  one  place, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  could  pass  for  an  accident.  The 
fourth  point,  finally,  was  that  the  fire  must  be  started 
at  night,  in  order  to  prevent  help  from  arriving  and 
putting  it  out  at  the  very  beginning. 

For  a  child  of  my  age,  all  this  planning  was  not 
very  unskillful.  The  unfortunate  thing  is  that  it  was 
done  in  a  bad  cause.  But  I  was  driven  to  evil  and 
was  not  the  only  one  to  blame. 

While  I  was  going  over  all  this  in  my  mind,  my 
mother,  who  had  heard  that  they  required  haymakers 
at  Cheylard,  went  there  the  next  day,  leaving  me  alone 
for  the  whole  of  the  long  haying  season;  for  it  was 
too  far  to  return  each  evening.  This  distressed  her, 
but  I  reassured  her  that  I  did  not  at  all  mind  being  left 
alone.    If  I  had  told  her  the  truth,  I  should  have  said 


nt  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

I  was  pleased.  The  first  day  I  went  with  her  as 
far  as  Cheylard,  where  she  asked  for  a  little  of  her 
money  in  advance  and  bought  from  the  baker  of  Rouf- 
fignac  a  loaf  of  bread,  which  I  carried  home  with  me. 

Since  I  had  decided  definitely  on  my  plan,  I  had 
only  to  find  the  right  place  and  await  the  favorable 
moment.  Between  the  timber  in  the  forest  of  I'Herm 
and  that  in  La  Granval  which  adjoined  it,  there  was  a 
difference  of  three  or  four  years'  growth.  The  for- 
mer would  be  ready  to  cut  the  next  winter,  so  that 
its  boundaries  were  easy  to  find,  especially  with  the 
rough  corner  landmarks  which  occurred  every  little 
distance.  Having  carefully  considered  everything,  I 
decided  on  a  spot  where  a  corner  of  the  woods  of 
THerm  joined  the  others.  Just  at  that  spot  there 
was  an  old  ditch,  half  filled  up ;  I  dug  a  little  fireplace 
in  the  side,  such  as  children  make  to  amuse  them- 
selves, and  collected  some  armfuls  of  underbrush  in 
the  ditch.  Then  I  returned  without  seeing  anyone 
whatsoever. 

I  waited  several  days.  There  was  a  hot  sun  which 
dried  the  twigs  and  grasses  in  the  wood ;  this  delighted 
me  and  made  me  hope  for  a  fine,  blazing  fire.  But 
there  was  no  wind.  One  morning,  however,  the 
weather  changed  with  the  moon,  and,  to  my  great 
satisfaction,  a  strong  east  wind  began  to  blow.  All 
day  long  I  fidgeted  with  impatience,  and  when  night 
had  come  I  filled  an  old  sabot  with  embers  and  ashes 
and,  hiding  it  under  my  shirt,  I  ran  through  the  woods. 

Gray  clouds  were  going  by  in  the  sky,  the  weather 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  1«3 

was  stormy,  a  warm  wind  was  blowing  through  the 
coppice,  bending  the  ferns  and  forest  grass,  and  sway- 
ing noisily  the  tops  of  the  staddles  and  the  tall  forest 
trees.  So,  while  I  was  running,  I  kept  saying  to 
myself,  "If  only  it  doesn't  rain  to-night!" 

When  I  reached  the  spot  I  was  out  of  breath  and 
covered  with  sweat.  It  must  have  been  about  ten 
o'clock.  I  found  my  fireplace  by  feeling  about,  and 
at  once  emptied  my  sabot  into  it,  covered  it  with  dry 
grass  and  began  to  blow  on  the  embers.  The  grass 
blazed  quickly;  I  added  a  few  sticks  to  it,  and,  as  the 
fire  caught,  some  fragments  of  dead  branches.  After 
it  was  well  started,  I  threw  on  an  armful  of  dry 
brush  which  I  had  collected,  and  the  flame  instantly 
mounted  up  and  the  woods  caught.  In  a  moment, 
owing  to  the  force  of  the  wind,  the  underbrush  was 
on  fire,  and  I  ran  off  as  I  had  come,  through  the 
thickets,  carrying  the  sabot,  which  would  have  be- 
trayed me. 

Reaching  the  tile-works,  with  hands  bleeding  and 
legs  torn  by  the  brambles,  I  went  to  bed  in  my  clothes, 
agitated  and  restless,  afraid  of  only  one  thing,  that 
the  fire  would  go  out  of  itself,  or  be  put  out  by  the 
thunderstorm  which  was  rumbling  far  away.  About 
an  hour  after  midnight  I  heard  loud  noises,  and,  get- 
ting up,  I  went  out.  The  tocsin  was  sounding  from 
the  belfries  of  the  neighborhood  with  hurried,  sinister 
tollings.  An  immense  red  glow  reddened  the  clouds 
that  were  flying  past  borne  by  the  wind,  and  lighted 
up  the   slopes.     An  uproar   rose   from  the  villages 


124  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

neighboring  the  forest, — rHerm,  Prisse,  Les  Fou- 
caudies,  La  Lande.  And  in  the  midst  of  the  woods 
were  to  be  heard  the  calls  of  the  men  from  Maurezies, 
La  Cabane,  Lac-Viel,  La  Granval,  who  were  running 
to  bring  aid. 

Thereupon,  I  was  seized  with  an  immense  desire 
to  see  my  handiwork.  I  let  these  men  go  past  me, 
and  then  cut  through  the  cleared  woods  and  reached 
one  of  the  highest  spots  in  the  forest,  where  there 
was  a  great  beech  which  I  had  climbed  more  than 
once.  Grasping  it  quickly,  I  set  to  work  climbing. 
The  higher  I  climbed  the  more  I  saw  of  the  fire,  and 
when  I  reached  the  top,  the  conflagration  could  be 
seen  in  its  whole  extent.  The  forest  of  THerm  was 
burning  over  an  area  of  half  a  league,  and  seemed 
like  a  great  lake  of  fire.  The  underbrush,  dried  by  the 
heat,  flamed  up  in  great  shoots;  the  big  trees,  isolated 
in  the  midst  of  the  fire,  resisted  longer,  but  at  last, 
enveloped  in  flames,  their  base  undermined,  they  fell 
with  an  immense  crash  into  the  enormous  furnace, 
where  they  disappeared,  sending  up  clouds  of  sparks. 
The  smoke,  driven  by  the  wind,  uncovered  this  wave 
of  fire,  which  came  rapidly  on,  devouring  everything 
in  its  passage.  The  birds,  rudely  awakened,  rose  in 
the  air,  and,  not  knowing  where  to  go,  flew  about  ter- 
rified, over  this  gigantic  hearth.  Above  the  heavy 
roaring  of  the  fire  rose  into  the  night  the  hissing  of 
green  wood  twisting  in  the  flame,  the  cracking  of  trees 
fallen  into  the  heap  of  blazing  embers,  the  voices  of 
distracted  men  working  to  save  their  fields  of  ripe 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  125 

wheat.  In  the  clearings  the  tongues  of  flame  stretched 
out  like  immense  serpents,  and  only  stopped  at  the 
edge  of  the  woods.  On  the  doorsteps  of  the  houses 
roundabout,  children  in  their  nightgowns  were  calmly 
watching  the  burning  of  the  Comte  de  Nansac's  forest. 
The  glare  of  the  great  fire  was  thrown  far  off  on  the 
hillsides,  and  lighted  up  the  villages  with  sinister  tints 
of  red  that  were  reflected  from  the  blazing  sky. 
Nearer,  above  the  low  houses  of  the  village,  the  towers 
and  great  gables  of  the  Chateau  de  THerm  rose  in  a 
somber  mass,  the  windows  shining  with  the  reflected 
glare. 

I  remained  there  astride  a  big  limb  until  daybreak, 
following  the  progress  of  the  fire,  which,  except  for 
a  few  corners  that  were  kept  safe  at  the  end  of  a  road, 
did  not  cease  until  it  had  devoured  the  entire  forest, 
leaving  behind  it  a  vast  black  expanse  from  which 
arose  clouds  of  smoke.  Then,  quite  satisfied  with  my 
vengeance,  I  came  down  from  my  tree  and  returned 
to  the  tile- works,  full  of  a  savage  joy. 

Thanks  to  my  little  fireplace,  people  thought  the  fire 
had  been  started  by  children  at  play.  Everybody  in 
the  neighborhood  was  questioned  in  turn  without  avail. 
The  Comte  de  Nansac  had  lost  six  or  seven  hundred 
acres  of  burned  wood. 

From  that  time  on,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  a 
man.  I  was  drunk  with  the  pride  of  my  wicked  act. 
I  measured  my  strength  by  its  extent,  and  found  de- 
light in  my  feeling  of  satisfied  hatred.  Of  remorse  I 
had  not  a  shadow,  any  more  than  has  the  wild  boar 


126  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

that  turns  on  the  hunter,  or  the  viper  that  bites  the 
foot  of  a  peasant.  On  the  contrary,  the  success  of 
my  scheme  tempted  me  to  think  of  avenging  myself 
more  completely. 

On  Sunday,  when  my  mother  came  to  spend  the  day 
at  the  tile-works,  she  asked  me  if  I  had  not  been 
frightened  the  night  of  the  fire.  I  answered,  no;  on 
the  contrary,  I  had  been  overjoyed  to  see  the  Count's 
woods  burning.  The  expression  with  which  I  said 
this  caused  her  to  look  at  me  with  quick  suspicion, 
and  then,  as  she  suddenly  comprehended,  she  grasped 
me,  clutching  me  to  her  heart  and  embracing  me 
fiercely : 

"Ah !"  she  said,  as  she  put  me  down ;  *'he  will  never 
be  punished  enough !" 

Three  or  four  days  later,  since  the  haymaking  was 
finished,  the  poor  woman  came  back  in  the  evening, 
worn  out  with  fatigue,  after  having  worked  a  whole 
long  day  of  fifteen  hours  under  a  blazing  sun.  She 
hurried  fast  in  order  to  reach  home  before  the  storm 
which  was  following  her,  but  her  effort  w^as  useless. 
Shortly  after  she  had  passed  La  Salvetat,  the  clouds 
burst  with  a  great  crash.  All  panting  and  covered 
with  sweat,  she  was  deluged  with  a  cold  rain  that  was 
partly  hail.  Three-quarters  of  an  hour  later,  when 
she  arrived  in  this  beating  rain,  she  was  drenched  to 
the  skin,  shivering  and  quite  exhausted.  Having  no 
change  of  clothes,  she  went  to  bed,  and  I  did  likewise. 
All  night  I  felt  her  beside  me,  burning  and  restless 
with  fever,  and  tormented  in  her  sleep  with  bad  dreams 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  127 

which  made  her  talk  nonsense  in  a  sort  of  delirium. 
In  the  morning  she  wished  to  get  up,  as  she  was  a 
brave  woman,  but  when  she  had  put  the  pot  on  the 
fire  to  cook  some  potatoes,  she  had  to  go  back  to  bed, 
for  she  was  seized  with  chills  and  violent  chatterings 
of  her  teeth,  and  complained  of  great  pain  in  the  side. 

Seeing  her  in  this  condition,  I  covered  her  with 
everything  I  could  find, — ^her  dried  skirt  and  finally 
my  own  shirt,  but  she  still  shivered.  Then  I  thought 
of  going  for  help,  but  when  I  spoke  of  it,  she  said 
feebly : 

"Do  not  leave  me,  my  Jacquou!'* 

As  one  can  imagine,  I  was  very  anxious.  Since  I 
did  not  know  how  to  appease  the  thirst  which  tor- 
mented her,  I  cut  in  quarters  the  anis  apples  which 
the  poor  woman  had  brought  in  the  pocket  of  her 
apron.  I  boiled  them  and  made  a  sort  of  beverage, 
which  I  gave  her,  when  she  asked,  as  she  often  did, 
for  something  to  drink.  Sometimes  I  said  to  myself 
that  if  she  could  get  to  sleep,  I  would  run  as  far  as 
Granges  and  get  aid.  But  when  I  made  the  least 
movement,  she  opened  her  eyes  and  said : 

"You  are  there,  my  Jacquou?    Do  not  leave  me." 

And  I  answered,  taking  her  hand: 

"Don't  be  afraid,  mother!    I  will  not  leave  you.'* 

Then,  worn  out  with  the  fever,  breathing  with  much 
difficulty,  she  would  close  her  eyes. 

When  she  was  a  little  more  at  ease,  I  went  to  the 
door  and  looked  out  to  see  if  anyone  were  passing 


128  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

by.  But  in  this  wild  spot  where  no  one  had  occasion 
to  go,  and  which  was  not  on  any  road,  one  almost 
never  saw  anybody  save,  at  long  intervals,  some  poor 
fellow  skirting  the  borders  of  the  wood,  with  his 
pruning-bill  under  his  jacket  or  vest,  going  to  get  his 
load  of  wood  in  the  thicket.  As  no  one  was  in  sight, 
I  came  back  very  much  disturbed,  and  when  my 
mother  woke  up  I  tried  to  make  her  understand  that 
she  must  have  patience  and  remain  alone  for  a  couple 
of  hours  while  I  went  to  get  somebody.  But  to  every- 
thing I  could  say  she  would,  only  answer : 

"Do  not  leave  me,  my  Jacquou!" 

Or  else,  not  having  the  strength  to  speak,  she  would 
shake  her  head  to  indicate  "no." 

The  next  night  she  began  to  be  delirious,  speaking 
of  the  guillotine,  and  the  galleys,  calling  for  her  poor 
husband,  tiead  over  there  on  a  bare  plank,  with  his 
feet  in  chains.  The  memory  of  all  our  misfortune 
came  back  to  her  and  drove  her  frantic.  She  cried 
out  against  the  Comte  de  Nansac,  and  railed  against 
the  Virgin  Mary  for  not  saving  her  husband.  In  her 
fever,  she  beat  her  arms  upon  the  quilt  to  chase  away 
the  executioner  whom  she  said  she  saw  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  or  tried  tp  get  up  to  join  her  Martissou, 
who  was  waiting  for  her.  I  had  great  difficulty  in 
calming  her  a  little.  I  had  to  climb  on  the  bed,  put 
my  arms  about  her  neck  and  speak  to  her  as  to  a  little 
child,  while  I  embraced  her.  In  the  morning,  ex- 
hausted with  weariness,  she  dozed  a  little,  and  seeing 
her  thus  I  thought  she  was  getting  better.     But  when 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  129 

she  woke  with  a  start  and  a  long  moan,  I  saw  that 
she  was  not.  Her  breathing  became  more  and  more 
rapid  and  painful,  her  fever  was  so  high  that  her 
hand  burned  mine.  In  this  way  the  day  passed,  and 
when  night  came  she  could  no  longer  speak,  but 
moaned  and  tossed  despairingly.  Oh!  what  a  night! 
Imagine  a  child  of  nine  alone  in  a  solitary,  abandoned 
hut  in  the  midst  of  the  forest,  with  his  mother  in  her 
last  agony!  For  several  hours  the  poor,  unhappy 
woman  fought  death,  beating  her  arms  crazily,  trying 
to  pull  off  the  bed  covering,  lifting  herself  up  bodily 
in  the  throes  of  the  fever,  her  eyes  wild,  her  breast 
panting;  she  would  fall  back  on  the  bed,  as  her 
breath  would  fail  her  for  an  instant,  only  to  be  re- 
covered with  a  painful  effort.  Towards  midnight  or 
one  o'clock  the  fever  ceased,  and  a  hoarse  sound  came 
from  her  chest, — the  death  rattle.  That  lasted  for 
half  an  hour.  I  crouched  on  the  bench  near  the  bed 
and  held  my  poor  mother's  hand  tight  against  my 
breast.  At  that  moment  she  became  entirely  conscious 
again.  She  turned  towards  me,  her  eyes  full  of  an 
agonized  despair,  and  two  big  tears  ran  down  her  thin, 
sunburned  cheeks;  then  her  lips  moved,  the  rattle 
stopped, — she  was  dead. 

Full  of  grief  and  terror,  I  called  her:  "Mother! 
Mother!"  and  began  to  sob  on  her  hand,  which  I  still 
held  in  mine. 

I  stayed  there  a  long  time,  motionless,  prostrate. 
When  I  lifted  my  head,  I  saw,  by  the  light  of  the 
lantern  which  the  wind,  as  it  came  through  the  hole 


130  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

in  the  roof,  set  flickering,  my  mother's  face  which 
was  taking  on  the  color  of  yellow  wax.  Her  eyes  and 
mouth  remained  open,  and  'the  lips,  drawn  back,  re- 
vealed her  teeth.  Oh,  with  what  fearful  terror  I  was 
seized  when  I  saw  her  like  this!  I  could  not  look  at 
her  for  a  single  moment,  and,  hiding  my  face  in  the 
sheets,  filled  with  fear  and  despair,  I  managed  some- 
how to  pass  this  terrible  night. 

When  day  came,  I  raised  myself  up,  a  little  re- 
assured, and  looked  at  my  poor  mother.  Now  she 
was  cold,  and  rigid  in  death.  Her  hand,  which  I 
touched,  froze  mine;  her  black  hair,  loosened  by  her 
feverish  tossings,  spread  out  in  thick  locks  over  the 
bed,  .like  serpents,  her  pallor  had  become  terrifying, 
her  eyes  were  glassy  and  dull,  and  her  mouth,  still 
wide  open,  seemed  to  shriek  her  despair  at  leaving 
her  child  alone  in  the  world. 

I  remained  there  a  moment,  contemplating  her. 
Then,  acting  as  I  heard  people  did  in  such  cases,  I 
covered  her  face  with  the  winding  sheet,  and  closing 
the  door,  went  off  to  find  someone.  At  Petit-Lac, 
a  woman  who  was  spinning  as  she  leaned  against  a 
wall,  saw  me  go  by  in  this  distress,  and  asked  me 
what  was  the  matter.  When  I  told  her,  she  raised 
her  arms,  and  said: 

"Holy  Virgin!" 

Then  she  asked  me  a  great  many  questions,  and 
ended  by  saying : 

"Ah!    So  you  are  the  child  of  the  late  Martissou!" 

And  that  was  all.    As  she  made  no  offer  of  assist- 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  131 

ance,  I  left  her  and  went  straight  to  Bars  to  the  mayor, 
who  recognized  me  at  once. 

"And  what  do  you  want?"  he  said,  roughly,  in  his 
usual  fashion. 

When  I  had  told  him  of  the  death  of  my  mother, 
he  made  an  ill-humored  gesture,  grumbled  a  few 
words  between  his  teeth,  and  finished  by  answering  me 
in  a  loud  voice: 

"You  can  go  back.    We  will  do  what  is  necessary." 

I  went  back  to  the  tile-works,  and  sat  waiting  beside 
the  door  the  whole  day.  About  five  o'clock,  four  men 
came  with  a  kind  of  litter  with  sides,  a  sort  of  long 
box  with  shafts,  which  was  used  to  carry  to  the  grave 
the  poor  who  could  not  afford  a  cofhn, — a  common 
thing  in  those  days.  When  they  came  in,  one  of  them 
uncovered  the  face  of  my  mother  and  said : 
J     "Poor  woman!     She  was  too  young  to  die!" 

Seeing  that  she  was  not  laid  out  or  in  her  shroud, 
they  left  her  in  the  sheets  and  turned  them  down  over 
her.  Then,  placing  her  in  the  old  bed-spread,  all  worn 
and  patched  with  various  remnants,  and  arranging  her 
body  carefully  in  it,  they  fastened  the  sheets  above 
the  head  and  at  the  feet.  When  that  was  done,  they 
took  this  poor,  stiff  corpse  and  placed  it  in  the  litter. 
Then  each  man  took  one  of  the  four  handles,  and 
they  went  out  of  the  house  and  set  off  through  the 
forest. 

The  day  had  been  hot.  The  setting  sun  sent  its 
rays  through  the  undergrowth  like  straws  of  gold. 
The  birds  were  beginning  to  roost  for  the  night,  and 


132  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

flew  about  among  the  branches.  It  was  stifling  in 
these  airless  woods,  and  the  roads  were  bad;  so  that 
the  tired  men  who  carried  her  body  often  stopped 
and  wiped  their  foreheads  with  their  sleeves.  Then, 
rested,  they  spat  in  their  hands,  gripped  the  shafts, 
and  set  off  again. 

I  followed  them  mechanically,  stopping  when  they 
stopped,  and  setting  off  again  with  them.  I  was  lost 
in  grief,  and  thought  of  nothing,  as  with  a  stony  gaze 
I  followed  my  mother's  body,  folded  in  the  quilt,  which 
was  being  gradually  shaken  loose  by  the  unevenness 
of  the  ground,  and  around  which  big,  black  flies  were 
beginning  to  buzz.  .   .   . 

When  we  came  out  of  the  forest,  and  the  roads 
were  open  and  more  level,  the  men  could  carry  her 
uninterruptedly  on  their  shoulders,  and  they  quickened 
their  steps.  As  we  passed  by  a  village,  a  poor  old 
woman  who  had  come  to  get  her  bread,  as  was  evi- 
dent from  the  half -full  haversack  she  carried  under 
her  crooked  chin,  crossed  herself,  and  said: 

"It's  a  great  pity  to  see  a  poor  creature  carried  to 
her  grave  like  that!" 

And  pulling  her  rosary  from  her  pocket,  she  fol- 
lowed along  with  me. 

The  Ave  Maria  was  ringing  as  we  reached  the 
little  town  of  Bars.  The  men  placed  the  litter  in  front 
of  the  church  door,  and  went  to  fetch  the  cure.  A 
moment  later  he  arrived,  cast  a  cold  glance  at  the  body, 
and  said: 

"This  woman  did  not  attend  church,  or  take  com- 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  133 

munion  on  Easter ;  she  denied  God  and  the  Holy  Vir- 
gin; she  was  a  Huguenot;  there  are  no  prayers  for 
her.  .  .  .  You  can  carry  her  to  the  corner  of  the 
cemetery  where  the  grave  is  dug.'* 

The  men  stood  still  a  moment,  astounded;  then, 
taking  up  their  burden,  they  entered  the  cemetery, 
while  the  old  woman  said  to  me: 

'Tf  you  had  been  able  to  pay,  he  would  have  said 
the  burial  service  just  the  same.  .   .  .  Jesus,  my  God !" 

In  a  corner  of  the  cemetery,  full  of  stones,  brambles 
and  nettles,  the  hole  was  ready,  and  the  man  who  had 
dug  it  was  waiting.  The  bearers  placed  the  body  on 
the  inclined  board  and  let  it  slip  down  as  gently  as 
they  could.  Then  they  pulled  out  the  board  little  by 
little,  and  my  poor  mother  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the 
black  hole.  She  was  hardly  stretched  out  there  when 
the  grave-digger  began  to  throw  in  the  earth  and 
stones,  which  fell  on  her  with  a  dull  noise. 

Meanwhile,  night  had  come,  and,  drowned  in  my 
grief,  I  stood  watching  like  one  out  of  his  mind  while 
the  grave  was  being  filled.  By  my  side,  the  old  woman 
on  her  knees  was  telling  her  beads.  When  the  man 
had  finished,  she  rose,  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and, 
touching  my  arm,  said: 

"Come,  my  child,  it  is  all  over." 

And  I  followed  her  to  the  village,  where  she  had 
shelter  in  a  barn.  She  made  me  go  up  with  her. 
Worn  out  with  grief  and  fatigue,  I  fell  on  the  hay, 
and  dropped  into  a  heavy  slumber. 


CHAPTER  IV 

When  I  awoke  next  morning,  I  was  astonished  to 
find  myself  in  a  hayloft;  but  soon  my  memory  re- 
turned. I  looked  about  me ;  the  old  woman  was  gone, 
but,  suspecting  that  I  would  be  hungry,  she  had  left 
me  a  good-sized  piece  of  bread.  My  stomach  clamored 
for  it,  as  it  must  have  been  a  couple  of  days  since 
I  had  eaten  anything.  Although  the  bread  was  all 
wheat  and  looked  very  clean,  I  felt,  nevertheless,  a 
great  unwillingness  to  touch  it.  Among  us,  however 
poor  people  may  be,  they  have  a  horror  of  the  bread 
of  charity.  It  is  a  popular  saying  that  '*A  beggar's 
pack,  cleverly  borne,  supports  its  owner."  But  in 
spite  of  that,  the  humblest  peasant  in  the  blackest 
poverty  still  thinks  himself  fortunate  if  he  has  not 
been  driven  to  this,  and  regards  with  a  rather  scorn- 
ful compassion  those  who  seek  their  living  by  beggary. 

Remembering  the  old  woman's  kind  thought,  how- 
ever, I  felt  I  should  be  an  ingrate  if  I  refused  this 
bit  of  bread.  Besides,  I  was  starving,  and  that  is 
a  terrible  thing  to  be.  So  I  took  the  bread,  and  came 
down  from  the  hayloft.  In  the  court  I  saw  no  one, 
and  the  door  of  the  house  was  closed,  so,  eating  my 
bread,  I  went  off. 

134 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  135 

I  went  back  to  the  tile-works;  but  when  I  saw  the 
deserted  hovel  and  that  bedstead  on  which  remained* 
nothing  but  the  straw  mattress  and  wretched  feather 
bed,  I  sat  down  on  the  bench  and  began  to  cry,  as 
I  thought  of  my  mother  over  there,  crushed  under 
six  feet  of  earth,  and  of  myself  all  alone  in  the  world. 
Having  wept  my  heart  out  for  the  last  time,  I  decided 
to  go  away.  But  first,  as  I  did  not  wish  to  leave 
my  dear,  dead  mother's  wretched  clothes  lying  about, 
I  burned  everything  in  the  fireplace.  When  that  was 
done,  I  slipped  the  cord  of  the  haversack  over  my 
shoulder,  took  my  father's  thorn  stick,  and,  having 
cast  a  last  glance  at  the  bed,  where  I  still  seemed  to 
see  the  poor  stiff  body  that  was  no  longer  there,  I 
came  away  from  the  hut,  leaving  our  miserable  posses- 
sions behind. 

My  idea  was  to  hire  myself  out  as  a  turkey-keeper, 
and  I  thought  first  of  Mion  of  Puymaigre, — not  that 
I  wished  them  to  employ  me — for  nothing  on  earth 
would  have  made  me  willing  to  stay  on  the  lands 
of  the  Comte  de  Nansac — ^but  only  to  learn  from  them 
of  some  position. 

When  I  reached  Puymaigre,  I  was  astonished  to 
find  a  new  farmer's  wife,  who  told  me  that  Mion 
and  her  husband  had  gone  to  another  farm  over  t>y 
Tursac,  or  rather,  correcting  herself,  by  Cendrieux; 
she  was  not  quite  sure.  I  saw  at  once  that  the  poor 
woman  was  not  very  clever,  for  Tursac  is  on  the 
Vezere  towards  the  south  at  a  place  where  the  river 
makes  a  great  turn,  as  the  name  indicates, — while 


136  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

Cendrieux  is  to  the  west.  So  I  left  her,  going  back 
into  the  forest;  and  as  I  walked  along,  I  happened 
to  think  of  Jean  the  charcoal-burner  who  had  helped 
to  conceal  my  father.  I  had  heard  that  he  was  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Vergt,  where  he  had  taken  charge 
of  an  oven ;  but  to  make  certain,  I  went  to  Maurezies, 
where  he  owned  a  small  house.  When  I  reached  there, 
they  told  me  that  Jean  had  finished  at  Vergt,  and 
was  for  the  present  in  the  forest  of  Bessede,  beyond 
Selves.  When  I  learned  that,  I  thanked  the  people, 
and  went  off  at  random,  seeking  well-to-do  houses, 
for  the  poor  do  not  have  large  flocks  of  turkeys  to 
be  watched. 

Those  whom  I  met  on  the  roads  and  in  the  villages, 
I  asked  where  I  could  find  work,  but  the  first  people 
to  whom  I  applied  could  tell  me  nothing  of  any  use. 
When  they  were  women — for  women  are  all  inquisi- 
tive, just  like  some  men — they  asked  me  what  house 
I  was  from,  and  when  I  frankly  told  them  the  truth, 
I  realized  that  it  did  not  dispose  them  favorably  to- 
wards me.  The  son  of  that  Martissou  the  Croquant, 
who  had  killed  Laborie  and  died  in  the  galleys,  made 
a  bad  impression  on  them.  Although  they  well  knew 
that  he  was  not  a  rascal,  there  were  doubtless  some 
among  them  who  repeated  to  themselves  the  proverb, 
"His  breed  gives  the  dog  speed."  Seeing  this,  it 
occurred  to  me  to  give  another  name;  so,  when  I  was 
at  Foucaudies,  and  the  unavoidable  question  came  up, 
"Who  are  your  people?"  I  answered  boldly: 

"The  Garrigals  of  La  Jugie." 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  137 

"And  where's  that  place,  La  Jugie?" 

'In  the  parish  of  Lachapelle  d'Albarel." 

As  this  was  not  in  their  locahty,  these  people  did 
not  know  of  any  such  place  as  La  Jugie;  and,  for 
that  matter,  it  would  have  been  difficult  for  them  to 
know  of  it,  for,  as  I  found  two  or  three  days  later, 
there  was  no  such  place  in  the  commune  of  Lachapelle. 

It  looked  as  if  concealing  my  name  brought  me 
good  luck,  for  a  woman  said  to  me: 

*'You  might  go  to  look  at  L'Auzelie,  and  after  that 
try  La  Taleyrandie." 

I  had  pointed  out  to  me  the  road  to  L'Auzelie,  but 
when  I  arrived  there,  I  was  told  that  all  the  little 
turkeys  had  died,  just  as  their  combs  were  turning 
red,  having  been  caught  in  a  thunderstorm. 

From  there  I  went  to  La  Taleyrandie,  and  offered 
my  services  to  the  cook,  a  stout,  kindly  woman. 

"My  poor  boy,"  she  said,  "you  have  come  too  late; 
they  have  already  hired  someone." 

I  thanked  her  and  was  going  away  when  she  called 
after  me  to  wait;  a  moment  later,  she  brought  me 
a  big  piece  of  bread  on  which  she  had  crushed  some 
beans. 

I  was  not  wholly  conquered  by  "la  Marane,"  or 
ill-luck,  so  I  flushed  and  told  her  that  I  was  not  ask- 
ing for  charity. 

"And  I  am  not  giving  it  to  you  out  of  charity,'* 
she  said,  "but  because  I  have  a  boy  of  your  own  age. 
.  .  .  Come,  take  it,  do !"  she  added,  seeing  me  hesitate. 

I  took  the  piece  of  bread,  thanked  the  cook  heartily. 


138  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

and  went  on  straight   ahead  without  knowing  just 
where  I  was  going. 

Towards  evening,  I  began  to  wonder  where  I  would 
get  shelter  for  the  night.  Ahead  of  me  on  a  nearby 
slope  was  a  village,  the  window  panes  of  which  blazed 
in  the  setting  sun.  But  to  go  and  ask  shelter  there 
was  like  asking  for  food:  it  made  me  shudder.  The 
night  before,  however,  I  had  slept  in  a  barn  like  a 
beggar,  though  I  had  let  an  old  woman  take  me  there 
not  knowing  what  I  was  about.  It  was  fine  weather 
and  warm,  so  that  I  did  not  worry  very  much  over 
it  and  continued  my  journey.  Night  overtook  me 
near  La  Pinsonnie,  when  I  noticed  in  an  abandoned 
vineyard  one  of  those  round  huts  with  roofs  of  pointed 
stone,  and  went  straight  to  it.  Inside  the  little  cabin 
was  some  heather  and  dried  fern, — a  proof  that  people 
came  there  to  watch.  On  this  couch  I  arranged  my- 
self and  fell  asleep. 

In  the  morning,  at  daybreak,  I  set  off  again,  and 
walked  about  aimlessly  for  a  long  time,  applying  for 
work  at  the  big  houses,  but  without  success.  That 
day  I  did  not  eat,  for  I  was  ashamed  to  beg.  When 
night  came  I  lay  down  to  sleep  at  the  foot  of  a  chest- 
nut tree,  in  a  heap  of  cut  heather.  I  did  not  fall 
asleep  at  once,  for  I  was  beginning  to  w^orry  at  not 
finding  work,  and  I  wondered  what  would  become  of 
me  if  things  went  on  like  this.  But  finally,  in  spite 
of  this  uneasiness  and  the  rumblings  of  my  stomach, 
I  closed  my  eyes. 

The   rising  sun  woke  me,   and  I  set  off  walking 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  139 

again,  but  I  was  so  fearfully  hungry  that  when  I 
passed  through  a  village  called  La  Suzardie,  and  saw 
a  kind-faced  woman  on  her  doorstep,  I  overcame  my 
shame,  and  with  downcast  eyes  asked  for  charity  from 
her,  *'for  the  love  of  God,"  as  the  custom  was.  The 
woman  went  to  get  me  a  piece  of  bread,  which  was 
as  black  and  hard  as  any  I  have  ever  seen,  but  in 
spite  of  that  I  began  to  eat  it  at  once,  as  if  I  were 
starving — as  indeed  I  was.  Then  when  she  had  ques- 
tioned me,  as  she  had  good  reason  to,  and  heard  my 
replies,  she  pointed  out  to  me  the  road  to  the  Chateau 
d'Auberoche,  quite  close  to  Fanlac,  where  perhaps  they 
would  take  me.  But  when  I  reached  Auberoche,  the 
head  steward  without  any  explanation  told  me  that 
he  had  no  need  of  me. 

I  began  to  believe  that  some  sorcerer  had  cast  the 
evil  eye  upon  me;  but  what  could  I  do?  I  set  off 
again,  climbing  the  rough,  bare  slope,  at  the  foot  of 
which  is  the  chateau,  and  turned  towards  Fanlac. 

As  I  climbed  the  steep,  rocky  road,  bordered  with 
walls  of  sharp  stone,  I  reflected  sadly  on  my  situation. 
During  the  three  days  that  I  had  been  roaming  the 
countryside,  I  had  seen  children  of  my  own  age  in 
the  houses  of  middle-class  people  and  of  peasants,  and 
I  thought  how  happy  were  those  who  had  their  parents 
with  them,  a  home  to  live  in,  and  everything  they 
wished  for,  or  at  least  everything  necessary.  It  was 
not  a  mean  envy  working  in  me,  but  when  I  compared 
my  fate  with  theirs,  I  felt  more  keenly  my  own  isola- 


140  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

tion  and  my  total  lack  of  everything.  All  the  same, 
I  tried  to  pluck  up  courage  as  I  followed  this  toilsome 
road,  borne  up  by  hope.  The  sun  was  very  hot,  and 
fell  full  on  my  tanned  face;  it  was  hot  enough  to 
put  the  lizards  to  sleep,  and  the  stones  burned  my 
bare  feet.  So,  by  the  time  I  had  reached  the  crest 
of  the  high,  rocky  slope  where  the  little  town  of 
Fanlac  lies,  I  was  worn  out,  and  I  sat  down  to  rest 
in  the  shadow  of  the  old  church. 

I  had  reached  a  height  overlooking  the  country, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  my  troubles  had  grown 
lighter.  That  was  because  the  more  we  climb,  the 
more  our  spirits  rise;  we  comprehend  better  the  to- 
tality of  things  in  that  sordid  world  where  so  many 
miseries  resemble  our  own;  and  we  become  resigned. 
And  then  one  breathes  better  on  high  summits.  At 
that  moment,  the  shade  and  the  repose,  with  the  pure 
air,  gave  me  a  feeling  of  well-being  which  made  me 
languid.  The  little  town  was  almost  deserted,  as 
nearly  everyone  was  in  the  fields  cutting  the  wheat. 
On  all  sides  the  intoxicated  grasshoppers  ground  out 
their  deafening  song,  always  repeated.  About  the 
belfry,  in  a  sky  of  deep  blue,  the  swallows  circled, 
with  little  shrill  cries.  A  faint  echo  of  the  songs  of 
the  haymakers  rose  from  the  plain  and  mingled  with 
the  voices  of  the  little  creatures  of  the  air.  On  the 
little  square  in  front  of  the  church,  at  the  foot  of 
an  ancient  cross,  a  cock  was  scratching  in  the  dirt 
and  calling  his  hens  to  share  a  worm  with  them.  I 
watched   it  all   mechanically,   with   eyes   half -closed. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  141 

lulled  by  the  sounds  which  enveloped  me,  and  languid 
from  lack  of  food.  While  I  was  there,  dreaming 
vaguely  about  the  fate  that  awaited  me,  the  noon 
Angelus  rang  in  the  belfry,  sending  its  clear  peal  far 
off  over  the  sun-baked  country  and  setting  in  vibration 
the  massive  wall  against  which  I  was  leaning.  Then 
the  bell  was  silent,  and  the  cure  came  out  of  the  church, 
where  he  had  doubtless  been  taking  the  place  of  his 
sacristan  who  was  busy  with  the  harvest.  On  seeing 
me,  he  stopped  and  said  in  a  loud  but  kind  voice: 
"What  are  you  doing  there,  little  fellow?'* 
I  had  risen,  and  as  I  told  him  the  main  facts  of 
my  story,  he  watched  me  with  an  air  of  compassion. 
I  was  a  fit  subject  for  pity,  for  since  I  had  been 
dragging  my  clothes  about  the  country,  they  were  in 
tatters.  My  torn  breeches  showed  my  bare  skin;  they 
were  all  frayed,  and  came  scarcely  to  my  knees,  held 
up  in  some  sort  of  way  by  a  wooden  peg  like  a  button. 
My  jacket  was  in  the  same  state,  torn  everywhere, 
and  my  shirt  was  dirty,  much  worn,  and  all  in  holes. 
My  bare,  dusty  feet  were  scratched  by  brambles,  and 
so  were  my  legs.  I  was  bare-headed  also,  but  at  this 
time  I  had  a  thick  crop  of  hair  which  protected  me 
from  sun  and  rain.  The  more  the  cure  examined  me, 
the  more  I  saw  a  great  pity  well  up  in  his  brown 
eyes.  He  was  a  tall,  strong  man,  with  black  hair 
turning  gray,  a  square  forehead,  and  cheeks  blackened 
by  a  rough  beard  two  days  old.  His  large,  straight, 
fleshy  nose  divided  a  thin  face,  and  his  prominent  chin, 
cleft  in  the  middle,  helped  to  give  him  a  hard  look 


142  JACQUOU  THE  BEBEL 

which  frightened  me  a  little.  But  his  eyes,  which 
reflected  the  goodness  of  his  heart,  reassured  me. 

When  I  had  finished  speaking,  the  cure  said: 

*'Come  with  me." 

Close  to  the  church  stood  the  parsonage,  its  gate 
opening  on  the  little  square.  Nearby  was  an  old  well, 
its  edges  worn  by  the  ropes  used  for  drawing  water. 
Though  I  had  come  in  behind  the  cure,  his  servant, 
who  was  just  pouring  the  soup  on  the  bread,  cried  out: 
"Hey,  what  are  you  bringing  in  there  ?" 

"Just  as  you  see,  a  poor,  ragged  child,  who  has 
lost  his  father  and  mother.'' 

*'But  I  know  he  has  lice." 

I  shook  my  head,  and  this  gesture  brought  to  the 
lips  of  the  cure  the  faint  semblance  of  a  smile,  as  he 
replied  to  his  maid: 

"My  poor  Fantille,  if  he  has  any,  we  will  take  them 
off  of  him:  the  most  urgent  thing  is  to  give  him  some- 
thing to  eat,  for  I  think  he  has  not  lived  any 
too  well  for  some  time." 

At  that,  he  took  from  the  dresser  a  plate  of  flowered 
earthenware,  and  a  pewter  spoon,  and  then  filled  the 
plate  with  good  cabbage  soup. 

"Come  and  eat,"  he  said. 

While  I  was  eating  eagerly,  standing  at  the  end 
of  the  table,  the  cure  watched  me  with  pleasure,  and 
when  I  had  finished  he  took  a  jug  which  Fantille  had 
filled,  and  poured  me  out  a  good  measure. 

"You  can  certainly  eat  another  spoonful,"  he  said, 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  143 

when  I  had  finished  drinking;  and  he  pointed  to  the 
soup. 

For  decency^s  sake,  I  dared  not  say  yes,  but  he 
knew  what  I  meant,  and  once  more  filled  up  my  plate, 
after  which  he  went  into  the  next  room,  where  the 
servant  carried  him  the  soup  tureen. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  when  he  had  finished 
lunch,  the  cure  called  me  in. 

"So  you  are  from  La  Jugie,  in  the  commune  of 
Lachapelle-d'Albarel  ?"  he  asked,  unrolling  a  map. 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  cure.'' 

He  hunted  for  a  moment,  then  said  to  me  in  a 
grave  voice: 

"You  are  lying,  my  boy." 

I  grew  red  and  hung  my  head. 

"Come,  tell  me  the  truth;  who  are  you  and  where 
do  you  come  from?" 

Then,  won  over  by  his  kindness,  I  told  him  all  my 
misfortunes,  the  death  of  my  father  in  the  galleys, 
and  of  my  mother  at  the  tile-works  only  four  days 
before.  While  I  w^as  speaking,  explaining  what  had 
happened,  my  hatred  for  the  Comte  de  Nansac  showed 
so  plainly  in  my  words  that  he  asked  me: 

"So  you  would  avenge  yourself  if  you  could?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  answered,  with  shining  eyes. 

An  idea  came  to  him. 

"Perhaps  you  have  already  done  so?"  he  asked,  look- 
ing at  me  fixedly. 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  cure.  ..." 

And  on  the  spot,  overwhelmed  with  my  need  of 


144  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

confiding  in  him,  I  told  him  all  that  I  had  done, — 
the  strangling  of  the  dogs  and  the  burning  of  the 
forest. 

'What,  unhappy  boy!  It  was  you  who  set  fire  to 
the  forest  of  I'Herm?" 

After  I  had  told  him  about  this  too,  he  remained 
a  moment  silent,  his  eyes  on  the  map.  Then,  raising 
his  head,  he  said  to  me  in  a  voice  which  moved  me 
to  the  depths  of  my  heart: 

"Remember  never  to  tell  a  lie  again !  And  remember 
also  that  one  must  forgive  one's  enemies." 

Forgive  the  Comte  de  Nansac!  That  was  an  idea 
which  did  not  appeal  to  me;  it  seemed  to  me  to  be 
an  act  of  cowardice,  and  a  betrayal  of  my  dead  parents. 
But  I  said  nothing,  and  the  cure  rose,  telling  me  to 
wait  for  him.  While  he  was  in  another  room  at  the 
side,  where  he  slept,  I  looked  about  the  room  in  which 
I  was. 

As  was  usual  in  houses  of  an  earlier  time,  when 
people  did  not  crowd  themselves  into  boxes  as  we 
do  to-day,  the  room  was  large.  The  bare  walls,  poorly 
joined,  were  covered  with  whitewash;  across  the  ceil- 
ing were  torn,  gray  rafters ;  under  foot  a  rough,  badly- 
made  floor.  In  the  center  stood  the  massive  table 
where  the  cure  had  his  meals ;  at  the  back,  an  ancient 
cabinet  of  walnut.  On  the  broader  side  of  the  room, 
a  clumsy  buffet  of  the  same  style,  without  a  dresser, 
faced  the  fireplace,  the  cherry-wood  mantel  of  which 
was  surmounted  by  a  plaster  crucifix,  such  as  peddlers 
Bell,    Cheap  chairs,  old  and  worn,  were  arranged  along 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  145 

the  walls  of  the  room,  and  at  the  end,  a  window,  with- 
out curtains,  in  a  deep  embrasure,  gave  a  view  of  the 
distant  hills,  and,  rather  poorly,  lighted  the  chamber. 

Everything  suggested  a  rustic  simplicity,  an  indif- 
ference to  the  comforts  of  household  life,  a  contempt 
for  material  things. 

Presently,  the  cure  came  back  with  a  package  of 
clothes  under  his  arm,  and  led  me  off. 

As  we  passed  through  the  kitchen  Fantille,  seeing 
the  package,  shook  her  head: 

"You  know  that  pretty  soon  you  will  have  no  change 
of  clothing  left  V 

"Bah!"  said  the  cure,  unmoved.  "There  are  still 
hemp-fields  in  the  commune,  and  spinners  too — not 
to  mention  Seguin,  the  weaver,  who  asks  for  nothing 
but  a  chance  to  work." 

And  we  went  out  while  Fantille  was  saying: 

"Yes,  yes,  laugh ;  and  then  when  you  have  no  more 
shirts.  ..." 

I  did  not  hear  the  end. 

In  the  middle  of  a  little  lane  which  passed  between 
gardens  and  was  bordered  by  vineyards  enclosed  by 
low  walls,  through  which  grew  the  shoots  of  figtrees, 
the  cure  opened  a  round  door,  and  we  found  our- 
selves in  a  court  shut  in  by  a  stable,  some  hen-houses, 
a  bakehouse  and  high  walls.  At  the  back  was  an  old 
house  which  ended  on  one  side  in  a  pavilion  one  story 
high,  with  a  very  tall  roof. 

In  the  court,  a  maid  was  giving  some  grain  to  the 
fowls  and  the  pigeons. 


146  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

*ls  your  mistress  at  home,  Toinette?"  said  the  cure. 

"Yes,  indeed,  Monsieur  le  cure ;  she  is  in  the  dining- 
room." 

*'In  that  case,  I'll  go  through  the  garden." 

And,  pushing  open  a  little  wicket,  the  cure  followed 
the  wall,  which  was  hung  with  jasmine,  climbing  roses 
and  flowering  pomegranates,  and  stopped  before  a 
flight  of  three  steps.  The  long  window  was  open, 
and  at  the  entrance  was  an  old  lady  with  white  hair, 
seated  in  a  great  arm-chair,  working,  with  a  chair  full 
of  linen  before  her. 

Hearing  the  cure  address  her,  she  lifted  her  spec- 
tacles and  said: 

"Ah!  it  is  you,  cure;  may  I  wager  that  you've 
brought  some  work  for  me?" 

"Precisely  so,  and  the  work  is  urgent,  too." 

"You  have  made  another  good  discovery?" 

"Eh?   Yes." 

And,  turning  about,  he  exhibited  me  to  the  old  lady. 

"Oh,  Lord  Jesus!"  she  cried.  "And  where  does 
that  one  come  from  ?" 

"From  the  Barade  forest." 

"Well,  since  he  is  so  tattered,  that  doesn't  astonish 
me.     Come  here,  my  Httle  fellow !" 

And  when  I  had  mounted  the  three  steps  and  stood 
before  her,  she  added: 

"He  has  good  need  of  an  outfit,  that's  certain." 

"To  begin  with,"  said  the  cure,  "here's  something 
that  will  make  a  couple  of  shirts  for  him." 

The  old  lady  unfolded  the  two  shirts  and  said: 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  147 

"Hum!  They  are  not  any  too  good,  cure!  How- 
ever, I  will  try  to  make  them  do." 

And,  saying  this,  she  held  one  of  the  shirts  against 
me  and  measured  the  length  of  my  body,  then  of  my 
sleeves,  and  marked  the  measurements  v/ith  pins. 

"I'll  set  about  it  right  away,"  she  continued.  "Toin- 
ette  shall  help  me,  and  to-morrow  there'll  be  one.  .  .  . 
He's  nice-looking,  that  child,  you  know,  cure,"  she 
added,  lifting  her  eyes  to  me,  "and  he  has  a  lively  ex- 
pression, like  a  nestful  of  mice." 

"Ah!  you  women!  you  always  notice  physical 
charms,"  said  the  cure,  banteringly. 

"If  that  were  so,"  replied  the  old  lady,  laughing, 
"we  should  not  be  such  good  friends." 

"A  good  hit!"  said  the  cure,  laughing  also.  "And 
where  is  M.  le  Chevaher?" 

"He  has  gone  all  the  way  to  La  Grandie  to  see  if 
the  miller  has  collected  much  wheat." 

"It  is  to  be  feared  that  he  hasn't.  With  the  drought 
there  has  been  this  last  month,  the  pond  must  have 
dried  up.  .  .  .  Well,  mademoiselle,  good-bye,  and 
thank  you!" 

We  left  there  and  went  to  the  weaver's.  In  a  sort 
of  basement  like  a  cellar,  where  one  could  scarcely 
see,  the  man  was  sitting  on  a  cross-bar,  plying  his 
trade  with  feet  and  hands,  like  a  spider  spinning  its 
web. 

"Seguin,"  said  the  cure,  "I  need  some  good  stout 
drugget  to  make  some  breeches  and  a  jacket  for  that 
boy." 


148  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

"That  won't  be  difficult,  Monsieur  le  cure.  You 
shall  have  it." 

And,  having  settled  the  price,  the  man  measured 
out  with  his  yardstick  some  stuff  which  the  cure  car- 
ried off.    On  the  road  again,  he  entered  a  little  house: 

"Isn't  your  husband  here,  Jeannille  ?" 

"No,  Monsieur  le  cure,  he's  working  at  Valmas- 
singeas;  but  to-morrow  he'll  be  through." 

"Well,  let  him  come  to-morrow  without  fail.  Don't 
neglect  to  send  him  word.  It's  to  clothe  that  boy; 
you  see  he  needs  it." 

"Yes,  the  poor  fellow." 

"Now,"  the  cure  said  to  me,  as  we  went  on,  "I 
shall  have  a  pair  of  sabots  and  a  hat  brought  you 
from  Montignac.    After  that,  you'll  be  all  fitted  out." 

"Excuse  me.  Monsieur  le  cure,  but  I  have  no  need 
of  sabots  before  winter,  for  J  am  in  the  habit  of  going 
barefoot  over  stones  and  brambles;  and  as  for  what 
they  call  a  hat,  I  can  never  stand  anything  on  my 
head." 

"It's  true  you  have  a  good  shock  of  hair;  but  those 
things  will  come  in  handy  some  time  or  other." 

As  soon  as  we  got  back,  Fantille  demanded  of  the 
cure  where  he  intended  me  to  sleep. 

"In  the  little  room  behind  yours  where  the  clothes 
are  put;  you  can  make  up  the  folding-bed  for  him." 

And  he  went  into  the  garden  to  read  his  prayer- 
book. 

In  the  evening,  M.  le  Chevalier  de  Galibert  came 
after  supper,  and,  seeing  me,  said: 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  149 

"Aha!  There's  the  little  savage  of  the  Barade 
forest.  .  .  .  What  black  eyes  and  what  hair !  A  drop 
of  Saracen  blood  there.  .  .  .  And  what  were  you  do- 
ing down  there,  my  boy  ?" 

When  I  had  told  him  my  story,  without,  however, 
saying  anything  about  the  strangling  of  the  dogs  or 
the  fire  in  the  forest,  the  Chevalier  drew  forth  a  silver 
snuff-box  from  his  great  waistcoat  pocket,  took  a  good 
pinch,  and  delivered  himself  of  this  sentence: 

"  'Noblesse  oblige,'  says  he  who  treats  his  fellows 
cruelly." 

Then,  as  he  went  off  to  find  the  cure  in  the  garden, 
he  muttered  between  his  teeth: 

"Decidedly,  this  Nansac  is  not  good  for  much." 

Two  days  afterward,  I  was  dressed  in  new  clothes, 
and  I  had  a  white  shirt.  After  my  rags  my  drugget 
pantaloons  and  jacket  seemed  superb  to  me.  But  I 
continued  to  go  with  bare  head  and  feet. 

"As  you  please,"  the  cure  had  said  to  me.  "But 
on  Sunday  you  must  put  on  the  stockings  Fantille  has 
made  for  you,  and  your  sabots,  to  go  to  mass." 

What  a  change  in  my  existence !  Instead  of  begging 
my  bread  on  the  roads,  not  knowing  where  I  was  to 
sleep  at  night,  I  had  food  and  shelter,  and  my  entire 
work  consisted  of  going  to  fetch  the  water  or  cut  the 
wood  for  the  kitchen,  or  to  help  Fantille  about  the 
house,  and  the  cure  in  the  garden.  I  had  only  one 
fear, — ^that  it  would  not  last. 

One  evening,  while  he  was  watering  his  garden,  the 
cure  said  to  me: 


150  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

"Now  that  you  are  tamed,  I  am  going  to  teach  you 
first  to  speak  French,  then  to  read  and  write;  after 
that  we  shall  see." 

With  these  words  I  was  well  pleased,  for  I  under- 
stood then  that  the  cure  was  interested  in  me  and 
wished  to  keep  me.  From  that  day  onward,  every 
morning  after  mass,  he  taught  me  for  two  whole  hours, 
after  which  he  gave  me  lessons  to  learn  during  the 
day.  In  the  evening  he  taught  me  again  for  two  more 
hours  before  supper.  I  was  so  overjoyed  to  learn, 
and  I  wished  so  earnestly  to  please  the  cure,  that  I 
worked  with  a  sort  of  rage;  so  that  the  good  man 
sometimes  said  to  me : 

*There  must  be  moderation  in  everything;  now  go 
and  ask  Mile.  Hermine  and  M.  le  Chevalier  if  they 
do  not  need  you." 

Then  I  would  leave  my  papers  and  books  and  run 
to  find  Mile.  Hermine,  well  pleased  when  she  would 
give  me  some  errand  to  do.  I  used  to  go  to  the 
farmers'  to  get  eggs  or  a  pair  of  chickens,  or  to  La 
Grandie  to  fetch  flour  for  a  tart.  Then,  after  I  had 
been  shown  the  way  to  Montignac,  and  the  lady  had 
sent  me  to  buy  thread  or  buttons,  and  M.  le  Chevalier 
tobacco, — ah!  how  pleased  I  was  then!  You  may  be 
sure  I  did  not  play  by  the  way.  Leaving  Fanlac, 
the  road  was  bad  and  stony,  and  went  down  into  the 
valley  at  a  very  steep  incline.  I  used  to  run  tumbling 
down  this  road,  leaping  among  the  stones  like  a  kid; 
then,  crossing  the  fields  and  the  brook,  which  disap- 
peared into  the  Vezere  at  Thonac,  I  climbed  up  the 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  151 

slope  of  Sablou,  still  running.  By  showing  this  great 
diligence,  it  seemed  to  me  I  was  expressing  my  grati- 
tude to  the  good  lady  who  had  made  me  my  first 
shirt,  not  to  mention  the  others  since  then.  Certainly 
she  could  have  told  me  to  go  through  fire,  and  I  should 
have  been  happy  to  do  so  at  her  command.  And  then 
she  appeared  so  plainly  to  be  just  what  she  was,  good 
like  good  bread;  so  that  on  merely  looking  at  her 
gentle  face  and  white  hair,  under  her  old-fashioned 
lace  head-dress,  I  felt  honey  flow  into  my  heart. 

M.  le  Chevalier  de  Galibert  was  an  excellent  man 
also,  but  he  was  a  man,  and  had  not  always  his  sister's 
delicate  consideration.     He  too  was  very  charitable, 
but  he  could  not  have  divined  the  needs  of  the  poor, 
and    he    had    not    his    sister's    charming    ways    of 
doing   good,    which    doubled    their    value.      Besides, 
he  was  of  a  jovial  nature,  fond  of  laughing  and  joking; 
and  he  had  always  at  his  tongue's  end  a  number  of 
old  sayings  or  proverbs  with  which  he  sprinkled  his 
conversation.     To  an  unlucky  man  he  would  say: 
"The  devil  is  not  always  at  the  poor  man's  door." 
To  a  man  who  complained  of  his  wife: 
"Women  and  horses,  there  are  none  without  faults." 
To  a  man  who  had  lost  a  lawsuit: 
"One  is  wise  after  the  event." 
To  a  man  cheated  in  a  bargain,  he  would  say: 
"At  the  butcher's  all  calves  are  steers ;  at  the  tanner's 
all  steers  are  calves." 

To  those  who  complained  of  the  rain,  he  preached 
patience: 


152  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

''You  must  do  as  they  do  in  Paris; — let  it  rain.** 

If  it  was  drought,  he  said: 

"In  winter  it  rains  everywhere;  in  summer  where 
God  wishes." 

When  men  found  the  affairs  of  the  commune  going 
badly,  he  consoled  them  after  this  fashion: 

'The  donkey  that  belongs  to  everybody  is  always  the 
worst  beaten." 

And  more  of  the  same  sort;  he  never  ran  short  of 
them. 

It  was  good  to  see  them  both,  brother  and  sister, 
going  to  mass  on  Sundays,  dressed  in  the  fashion  of 
the  olden  times.  He  was  an  excellent  example  of  the 
country  gentleman  of  pre-Revolutionary  days ;  he  wore 
a  cloth  coat  of  royal  blue,  cut  in  the  French  style,  with 
a  large,  figured  waistcoat;  trousers  of  coarse  camlet, 
colored  stockings  in  summer  and  high  gaiters  in 
winter;  well-made  shoes  with  steel  buckles;  and  a 
black-edged  three-cornered  hat  over  his  gray  locks 
which  were  fastened  into  a  queue.  She,  in  her  head- 
dress with  lace  lappets,  her  linen  fichu  knotted  behind 
at  the  belt,  her  skirt  of  striped  pekin  which  revealed 
her  slender  ankle  and  small  shoe,  her  apron  of  shot- 
colored  silk,  and  her  knitted  mittens,  would  have  been 
taken  for  a  young  girl  of  olden  days — with  her  slender 
figure  and  light  step — ^had  it  not  been  for  her  white 
hair. 

On  coming  out  she  would  take  the  arm  of  her 
brother,  holding  in  her  other  hand  the  Book  of  Hours. 
In  the  little  square  everyone  came  up  to  greet  and 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  15$ 

compliment  them,  they  were  so  much  beloved.  And 
there  she  saw  all  her  little  world,  inquired  about  her 
poor  and  those  who  were  ill,  brought  people  home  and 
distributed  to  some,  clothes,  to  others  a  bottle  of  old 
wine,  sweetmeats,  or  honey.  On  that  day  she  gave 
away  the  things  she  had  worked  at  during  the  week, — 
fustians,  swaddling-clothes  and  bodices  for  the  small 
babies,  skirts  and  chemises  for  the  poor  women.  She 
and  the  cure  had  the  whole  countryside  at  the  tips  of 
their  fingers,  and  they  kept  each  other  informed  about 
people.  Each  one  did  what  he  could  do  best,  and  these 
two  hearts  of  gold,  these  generous  friends  of  the  poor, 
did  not  stop  at  the  limits  of  the  parish.  Fortunately, 
they  had  no  fear  of  encroaching  on  others,  for  neither 
in  the  neighborhood  nor  for  many  leagues  round  about 
were  there  any  cures  or  gentry  like  them. 

At  first  I  was  greatly  astonished  to  see  all  this. 
The  cure  of  Fanlac  was  the  first  I  had  known,  except 
Dom  En j albert,  the  chaplain  of  I'Herm,  who  in  spite 
of  his  big  paunch  had  the  air  of  a  sly  fox,  and  the 
cure  of  Bars,  that  evil,  coarse  old  miser,  who  had  a 
heart  like  a  stone.  Of  noblemen  I  had  seen  only  the 
proud  and  wicked  Comte  de  Nansac,  who  was  the 
cause  of  all  our  misfortunes.  So  there  had  been 
formed  in  my  childish  mind  the  idea  that  all  cures 
and  noblemen  were  wicked.  At  my  age  this  way  of 
reasoning  was  excusable,  especially  as  I  had  never  left 
our  forest;  and  there  are  many  men  better  informed 
than  I  who  reason  in  this  fashion.  But  when  I  saw 
how  mistaken  I  had  been,  I  had  a  great  desire  to 


154  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

make  myself  useful  to  those  who  had  treated  me  so 
well;  and  I  thought  up  ways  to  show  my  gratitude. 
Mile.  Hermine  was  very  fond  of  mushrooms;  so  at 
the  right  season  I  would  rise  before  dawn  in  order 
to  be  the  first  in  the  wood  where  they  were  to  be 
found.  And  how  delighted  I  was  to  bring  her  a  fine 
basketful  that  made  her  exclaim: 

*'0h,  what  beatitiful  mushrooms!" 

The  Chevalier's  white  mare  had  never  been  so  well 
combed,  brushed  and  cared  for  as  she  was  since  I 
had  been  with  them.  For  before  that  time,  Cariol, 
the  servant,  had  devoted  most  of  his  care  to  his  oxen, 
and  looked  after  the  mare  only  with  a  few  ^'strokes 
of  the  pitchfork,"  as  they  say.  Now  she  was  glossy 
and  in  fine  condition;  so  that  one  day  when  I  brought 
her  up  for  the  Chevalier  to  ride,  with  her  saddle  of 
Vv^ell-brushed  red  velvet,  and  the  buckles  of  her  French 
bridle  shining  like  gold,  he  said  to  me  jovially: 

^'That's  right,  my  boy;  'love  me,  love  my  dog.'  " 

As  for  the  cure,  there  was  no  one  like  him.  He 
cared  nothing  for  what  so  many  people  value.  When 
he  had  enough  money  to  give  his  charities,  he  had 
all  he  wished  for.  He  made  fun  of  drinking  and 
eating,  saying  it  was  all  the  same  whether  you  had 
beans  or  roast  chicken.  On  this  score  he  sometimes 
attacked  the  Chevalier,  who  was  rather  fond  of  good 
eating,  and  in  allusion  to  some  delicacy  would  make 
use  of  the  saying:  "Wing  of  partridge,  leg  of  wood- 
cock, the  whole  thrush." 

But  it  was  only  for  fun  that  the  cure  teased  him 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  155 

thus,  for  he  well  knew  that  more  than  once  he  fiad 
sent  the  choicest  morsels  to  neighbors  who  were  ill. 
Altliough  still  an  ignorant  child,  only  beginning  to 
learn,  I  soon  noticed  that  nothing  pleased  the  cure 
better  than  to  do  good,  and  to  see  those  whom  he 
helped  benefit  by  his  aid.  It  was  this  which  gave  me 
such  a  determination  to  study,  when  I  saw  all  the 
affection  he  showed  towards  me. 

"As  soon  as  you  can  read  well,"  he  had  told  me, 
"you  shall  learn  the  responses  in  the  mass,  and  then 
you  shall  serve  it  for  me;  for  our  poor  Frances  is 
getting  old." 

When  there's  good  will,  one  learns  quickly.  So  one 
day  the  cure  said  to  me: 

"At  Easter,  you  will  be  able  to  serve  the  mass." 

I  thanked  him  simply,  for  he  was  not  fond  of 
formalities,  and  did  not  like  compliments,  though  he 
was  good  and  kind  to  an  extent  that  is  impossible  to 
describe. 

When  Easter  came,  I  had  my  responses  at  the  tip 
of  my  tongue.  One  thing  only  bothered  me, — not 
understanding  the  Latin  words.  I  confessed  this  to 
the  cure,  who  took  it  not  at  all  amiss,  for  he  himself 
preached  in  patois,  so  as  to  be  understood.  He  ex- 
plained to  me  what  the  Latin  meant,  and  I  was  happy, 
for  it  had  seemed  foolish  to  utter  words  without 
understanding  what  I  said.  I  was  very  grand  that 
day,  well-dressed  in  fustian,  with  a  pair  of  shoes  on 
my  feet  which  Mile.  Hermine  had  ordered  at  Mon- 
tignac.     I,  who  had  never  had  any  shoes  before. 


156  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

strutted  in  them ;  and  I  thought  them  so  very  handsome 
that  I  could  not  keep  from  bending  my  head  to  look 
at  them.  The  Chevalier  had  bought  me  a  cap  as  a 
New  Year's  gift,  so  that  on  this  day  I  was  resplendent. 
The  cap  was  still  new,  for  I  was  used  to  going  bare- 
headed in  sun,  rain  or  frost. 

From  this  time  on,  I  acted  as  assistant  to  the  cure, 
and  old  Frances  had  nothing  to  do  but  sound  the 
Angelus  and  go  about  with  his  donkey  to  collect  the 
wheat  and  oil  which,  according  to  the  custom,  was 
given  him  for  his  work.  I  was  happier  than  I  can 
tell  to  be  of  use  to  the  cure.  When  he  had  to  take 
the  sacrament  to  some  sick  person,  I  went  in  front 
of  him  with  a  lantern,  ringing  the  little  bell,  and  be- 
hind the  cure  followed  Mile.  Hermine,  and  some  three 
or  four  old  women  of  the  town,  telling  their  beads. 
As  we  passed  along  the  stony  roads,  the  men  who 
were  working  in  the  fields  stopped  their  toiling  oxen, 
dropped  on  their  knees  and  said  an  "Our  Father"  for 
the  sick  person.  And  sometimes,  far  away  in  the 
midst  of  the  heath  a  shepherd,  hearing  the  faint  sound 
of  the  bell,  would  silence  his  barking  dogs,  and  also 
fall  on  his  knees  to  pray. 

When  it  was  a  burial,  the  cure  always  went  to  the 
house  of  the  dead  man  to  help  take  the  body  to  the 
church,  no  matter  how  far  it  was  or  how  poor  were 
the  people.  Whether  it  was  a  burial  or  a  marriage 
or  a  baptism,  when  they  asked  him  what  they  owed 
him,  he  answered: 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  157 

"Nothing,  nothing  at  all,  good  people.  Set  your 
minds  at  rest." 

And  when  they  had  thanked  him  heartily,  and  were 
going  off,  he  would  sometimes  say,  in  a  low  voice: 

"What  you  have  freely  received,  freely  give!" 

When  they  were  rich  landowners,  like  the  people 
of  Coudonnie,  Valmassingeas,  or  La  Rolphie,  they  in- 
sisted : 

"M.  le  Cure,  at  least  let  us  do  something  for  your 
church,  or  for  your  poor!" 

"Since  you  wish  it,"  he  would  say  then.  "We  need 
a  new  altarcloth."  Or  else:  "Have  a  sack  of  wheat 
sent  to  the  widow  of  Blasillou." 

At  New  Year's,  it  is  true,  grateful  souls  would  bring 
many  things  to  the  parsonage, — a  pair  of  capons,  or 
some  chickens,  or  some  eggs,  or  a  basket  of  apples, 
or  a  hare,  or  a  bottle  of  piiiaud  wine,  or  a  big  measure 
of  chestnuts,  or  something  of  that  kind.  Once  a  poor 
woman  even  brought  him  three  or  four  dozen  medlars 
in  the  pocket  of  her  apron.  And  as  she  apologized 
because  she  did  not  have  more  of  them,  and  because 
they  were  none  too  ripe,  the  cure  said  to  her  kindly: 

"Thanks,  many  thanks,  mother  Babeau.  He  who 
has  only  an  apple  and  gives  it,  gives  more  than  he 
who  offers  a  turkey-cock  from  his  flock." 

And  since  his  heart  was  rejoiced  that  day  to  see 
how  all  the  people  loved  him,  he  added,  smiling,  this 
saying  of  the  Chevalier's: 

"With  time  and  straw  the  medlars  ripen." 

But  these  things  that  were  brought  him  did  not  all 


158  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

remain  at  his  house.  He  gave  away  half  of  them 
to  the  poor,  and  if  Fantille  had  not  grown  angry 
and  locked  up  the  presents,  by  heaven,  he  would  have 
given  them  all  away!  When  someone,  for  instance, 
gave  him  a  good  bottle  of  brandy,  it  was,  you  may  be 
sure,  sent  to  old  La  Ramee — that  was  not  his  name, 
but  he  was  never  called  anything  else. 

This  La  Ramee  was  an  old  grenadier  of  "Poleon's" 
(as  that  good  soul  Minette  called  him)  from  Saint- 
Pierre-de-Chignac.  He  had  campaigned  in  Egypt,  in 
Italy,  in  Germany,  and  finally  in  Russia,  where  he 
had  slightly  frozen  his  great  toes,  so  that  he  walked 
with  difficulty.  After  the  Restoration,  they  had  "split 
his  ear,"  as  he  said,  and  he  had  come  back  to  the 
village,  where  he  would  have  died  of  hunger  if  his 
sister-in-law,  a  poor  widow,  had  not  taken  him  in. 
And  if  the  Chevalier  and  the  cure  had  not  helped  her, 
she  could  never  have  managed,  for  she  had  no  property, 
except  a  little  house  and  three  acres  of  land. 

But  La  Ramee,  because  of  his  old  habits,  would 
rather  have  gone  without  bread  than  without  brandy 
and  tobacco;  so  the  cure  gave  him  some  from  time 
to  time.  And  the  grateful  old  trooper,  when  he  went 
out  with  a  switch  to  one  of  the  codercs,  or  common 
pastures,  to  watch  his  sister's  goslings,  if  he  happened 
to  meet  the  cure,  would  draw  himself  up  straight,  his 
heels  together,  his  hand  lifted  in  a  military  salute  to 
the  foraging  cap,  which  he  had  never  given  up;  then, 
pointing  to  the  goslings  with  a  gesture,  he  would  say 
piteously: 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  159 

"And  to  think  that  I  have  been  at  Austerlitz !" 
On  the  day  when  they  brought  such  presents  there 
was  always  open  house  at  the  cure's,  and  no  one  went 
away  without  having  eaten  and  drunk;  and  almost  a 
whole  crate  of  wine  would  be  consumed.  But  for- 
tunately it  was  not  dear  in  those  days. 

When  I  was  twelve  years  old,  the  cure  had  me 
take  my  first  communion.  Seeing  that  all  the  boys 
of  my  age  were  being  confirmed,  I  forced  myself  to 
outdo  them  by  learning  the  catechism  in  such  a  way 
as  to  satisfy  the  cure  in  that,  as  in  everything.  In 
all  these  matters  of  religion,  he  was  not  officious  or 
exacting,  as  some  are.  He  had  confessed  me  early. 
As  I  lived  with  him,  always  under  his  eyes,  telling 
him  everything  I  did,  consulting  him  when  I  was  per- 
plexed, he  knew  me  as  well  as  I  knew  myself.  The 
evening  of  the  first  communion,  the  only  confession 
he  asked  of  me  was  whether  I  still  felt  hatred  in  my 
heart  for  the  Comte  de  Nansac.  And  when  I  answered 
with  a  timid,  ''Yes,"  he  talked  so  beautifully  to  me 
about  forgetting  one's  injuries,  and  exhorted  me  so 
earnestly  to  forgive,  after  the  example  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  that  I  assured  him  I  would  endeavor  to 
forget  everything  and  to  drive  this  hatred  out  of  my 
heart.  At  that  moment  I  was  truly  inclined  to  do  this, 
but  my  feeling  did  not  last. 

Speaking  of  forgiveness,  I  agree  heartily  that  it  is 
a  great  and  beautiful  thing  to  pardon  one's  enemies, 
and  not  try  to  avenge  oneself;  only,   between  two 


160  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

enemies  the  forgiveness  must  be  mutual,  for  if  one 
forgives,  and  the  other  does  not,  the  game  is  no  longer 
fair.     As  the  Chevalier  used  to  say: 

"When  you  become  a  lamb,  the  v^olf  eats  you." 
In  spite  of  the  extreme  poverty  of  my  early  years, 
I  W2is  so  tall  and  strong  at  the  time  of  my  first  com- 
munion that  I  seemed  fifteen  years  old.  During  the 
three  years,  moreover,  that  I  had  lived  w^ith  the  cure, 
I  had  learned  better  and  more  quickly  than  most  chil- 
dren all  he  had  offered  me.  I  knew  French  fairly 
well,  a  French  full  of  expressions  of  the  soil,  of  old 
words,  of  ancient  diction,  such  as  the  cure  spoke; 
then  the  history  of  France,  a  little  geography  and  the 
three  R's.  But  it  was  in  my  powers  of  reasoning 
that  I  was  far  in  advance  of  my  age,  and  in  determin- 
ing what  was  good  or  bad,  true  or  false.  This  was 
because  the  cure  taught  me  and  formed  my  judgment 
at  every  opportunity,  either  while  I  was  working  in 
the  garden  or  carrying  something  to  a  sick  person, 
or  in  the  moments  of  leisure  that  most  people  merely 
fritter  away,  or  spend  in  worse  ways  than  that.  Out 
of  some  very  simple,  very  ordinary  matter,  he  would 
know  how  to  draw  lessons  in  good  sense  and  morality, 
and  show  me  where  lay  the  true  blessings  of  wisdom, 
moderation  and  virtue. 

To  his  precepts  I  conformed  as  well  as  I  could,  and 
I  liked  them;  but  at  the  depths  of  my  nature  there 
was  one  thing  I  could  not  conquer;  it  was  my  hatred 
for  the  Comte  de  Nansac.  As  I  have  just  said,  I  had 
tried  hard  and  in  good  faith,  at  the  time  of  my  first 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  161 

communion,  to  do  this,  but  eight  days  later  I  no  longer 
had  the  same  will.  When  the  unhappy  past  of  my 
early  childhood  returned  to  my  memory,  I  said  to 
myself  that  I  should  be  an  ungrateful  and  unnatural 
son  if  I  forgot  all  the  misery  this  man  had  caused 
us,  and  all  the  misfortunes  that  had  come  to  us  through 
him.  And  when  I  thought  of  my  father,  dead  in  the 
galleys,  and  of  my  mother,  dying  in  all  the  anguish 
of  despair,  my  hatred  blazed  up  like  a  wood-cutter's 
fire  in  the  rising  east  wind. 

One  can  understand  that  everything  which  I^  learned 
to  the  disadvantage  of  the  Nansacs  gave  me  great 
pleasure  in  this  state  of  mind.  One  day  I  had  reason 
for  rejoicing.  I  was  in  the  garden  digging  potatoes, 
while  the  cure  and  the  Chevalier  were  walking  up  and 
down  in  the  wide  path  at  the  center,  when  I  heard 
the  cure  tell  the  latter  that  the  oldest  of  the  young 
ladies  of  Nansac  had  run  off  with  a  young  spendthrift, 
no  one  knew  where.  That  made  me  prick  up  my 
ears  and  I  heard  everything  that  the  Chevalier  replied : 

"My  dear  cure,  I  am  not  like  you;  that  does  not 
astonish  me.  She  takes  after  her  stock.  'Blood  can- 
not He.^  " 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"My  dear  cure,  I  had  an  aunt  who  was  a  veritable 
register  of  everything  that  concerned  the  nobility  of 
Perigord,  and  I  learned  many  things  from  her.  I 
see  nowadays  a  number  of  people  who  have  insinuated 
themselves  into  the  nobility,  who  would  have  been 
shown  the  door,  to  their  shame,  if  they  had  presented 


162  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

themselves  to  vote  v^ith  us  in  1789: — men  v^ho  have 
taken  the  names  of  noble  estates  bought  for  a  mere 
song;  men  of  low  birth  w^ho  left  the  country  for  rea- 
sons that  should  have  led  them  straight  to  the  guillo- 
tine— for  there  was  this  much  to  be  said  for  the 
Republic,  that  it  was  not  gentle  with  rogues ;  bourgeois 
fellows,  who  disappeared  for  a  moment  in  the  whirl- 
wind of  the  Revolution,  and  now  pretend  to  be  nobles, 
like  Crequi: — people  of  that  kind  don't  impose  on 
me.  I  would  gladly  say  to  them,  with  one  of  their 
own  number,  who  showed  good  sense: 

"  'Some  noblemen,  or  so-called  noblemen, 
If  they  but  understood  secrets, 
Would  find  among  the  documents  of  the  notaries. 
Evidence  that  they  were  only  peasants  after  all.' " 

The  cure,  who  thought  the  Chevalier  was  being  a 
little  far-fetched,  said  at  this  point: 

"Pardon  me,  but  I  don't  see  the  connection." 
"You  shall  see  it,  my  friend.  That  is  not  the  case 
of  the  Nansacs ;  they  are  nobles  of  the  stamp  of  Pont- 
chartrain,  who  sold  their  letters  of  nobility  for  two 
thousand  ecus.  The  father  of  the  old  marquis  of 
to-day  was,  quite  simply,  a  water-carrier,  a  native  of 
Saint-Flour,  who  began  his  fortune  in  the  rue  Quin- 
campoix,  and  has  increased  it  by  underhand  dealings 
in  military  supplies  and  in  any  number  of  suspicious 
business  trasactions.  This  rascal,  whose  name  was 
Crozat,  called  himself  *de  Nansac'  after  a  farm  which 
he  owned  in  his  native  district.    He  bought  the  estate 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  163 

of  THerm,  and  had  himself  made  a  nobleman,  thanks 
to  his  ecus.  His  son,  the  present  marquis,  married 
an  unprincipled  woman  who  made  herself  notorious 
at  a  time  when  it  was  difficult  to  distinguish  oneself 
in  this  way.  The  extent  of  her  amorous  relations 
caused  her  to  be  nicknamed  La  Coiir  et  La  Ville. 
Among  her  many  lovers  she  had  some  who  were  use- 
ful to  her.  The  old  rake  La  Vrilliere,  the  all-powerful 
minister  of  Louis  XV,  bent  to  her  caprices.  It  was 
he  who  got  for  the  son  of  the  water-carrier  the  title 
of  marquis  with  which  he  is  now  tricked  out.  .  .  . 
You  understand  now,  cure,  how  it  is  that  the  daughters 
of  the  Count,  with  such  a  grandmother,  behave  as 
they  do." 

"These  are  ugly  stories  for  you!"  said  the  cure. 
*T  did  not  know  of  their  origin.  But  confess.  Cheva- 
lier, that  if  the  throne  and  the  nobility  were  badly 
shaken  by  the  Revolution,  they  deserved  it  pretty  well." 

*T  admit  it,  and  I  include  a  large  part  of  the  clergy 
that  you  are  forgetting, — ^vicious  monks,  boudoir 
abbes,  cures  with  concubines  and  all  those  infidel 
priests  who  no  longer  dared  to  proclaim  Jesus  Christ 
crucified,  but  spoke  only  of  the  law-giver  of  the  Chris- 
tians.* " 

"Oh,"  said  the  cure,  "I  concede  them  to  you  will- 
ingly. From  all  this,"  he  added,  "one  can  conclude 
that  the  Revolution  was  not  useless,  for  certainly  the 
clergy  of  our  times  are  better  than  those  of  the  olden 
days." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Chevalier,  "and  the  nobility  also. 


164  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

The  chastisement  has  perhaps  been  rather  harsh,  but 
it  was  God  who  held  the  rod,  and  he  is  the  only  good 
judge  of  what  we  all  have  deserved.'' 

As  for  me,  I  listened  to  this  conversation  without 
losing  a  word.  That  was  none  too  honest  a  thing  to 
do,  I  admit,  but  the  temptation  was  too  strong.  I 
was  delighted  to  know  that  the  Nansacs  were  not  the 
best  type  of  noblemen,  and  indeed  when  I  compared 
them  to  the  Chevalier  and  his  sister,  who  were  the 
fine  flower  of  gallant  folk,  good  as  canon's  bread, 
upright  as  it  was  possible  to  be,  I  could  not  help 
thinking  that  there  were  two  races  of  noblemen,  the 
good  and  the  bad.  It  was  a  childish  idea;  since  then 
I  have  seen  the  qualities  are  intermixed  in  them,  as 
in  all  people. 

A  little  while  after  this  conversation,  the  cure  said 
to  me: 

"Jacquou,  it  is  time  now  to  think  of  choosing  a 
trade.  Let's  see,  what  do  you  prefer?  Will  you  be 
a  weaver,  a  sabot-maker,  or  a  blacksmith  ?  Would  you 
like  to  be  apprenticed  to  Virelou,  the  tailor?  Have 
you  any  preference  as  to  a  trade?" 

^'Monsieur  le  cure,  I  will  do  as  you  advise  me." 

*Tf  that  is  so,  my  friend,  I  advise  you  to  become 
a  farmer.  That  is  the  most  important  of  all  occupa- 
tions, the  healthiest,  the  most  intelligent,  and  the 
freest.  It  is  labor  in  the  fields,  you  will  notice,  that 
has  freed  the  peasants  of  France  from  servitude,  and 
it  is  the  means  by  which  some  day  all  the  land  will 
belong  to  them.     But  v*^e  need  not  look  so  far  ahead. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  165 

As  I  expected  this  response,  here  is  the  way  I  have 
arranged  matters  with  M.  le  Chevalier.  You  will  work 
every  day  on  the  reserve  with  Cariol.  He  is  a  good 
farm  worker,  who  will  show  you  how  to  plow,  weed, 
till  well,  reap,  make  hay,  trim  the  vines,  and  all  the 
rest.  You  will  live  with  him  and  Toinette,  at  the 
home  of  M.  le  Chevalier,  but  you  will  sleep  here;  for 
in  the  evening  I  can  still  give  you  some  lessons  and 
teach  you  some  things  that  will  be  useful  to  you  later 
on.  Our  good  folk  over  there,  who  have  seen  their 
elders  not  knowing  their  A,  B,  C's,  and  are  as  ignorant 
themselves,  say  it  is  not  necessary  to  know  so  much 
to  cultivate  the  earth;  but  they  are  mistaken.  A 
peasant  with  a  little  knowledge  is  worth  two  others, 
not  to  mention  the  fact  that  the  man  who  does  not 
know  the  history  or  geography  of  his  country  is  not 
French,  so  to  speak;  he  is  a  Fanla^is,  if  he  comes 
from  Fanlac,  and  that  is  all  he  is.  Then,  too,  a  man 
who  can  neither  read  nor  write  seems  to  lack  one  of 
his  senses.  .  .  .  When  you  are  grown  up  and  are  w^ell 
acquainted  with  your  occupation  as  a  farmer,  you  will 
find  it  easy  to  get  work;  and  later,  after  you  have 
laid  by  your  wages,  you  will  look  for  some  honest 
economical  girl,  and  marry  her  and  have  a  home  of 
your  own.  That's  a  fine,  splendid  thing,  and  well 
worth  considering.     So  now  there,  that's  settled!" 

I  thanked  the  cure  heartily  and  the  next  day  went 
to  work  with  Cariol. 


CHAPTER  V 

In  this  way  five  years  passed,  quite  fully  occupied 
and  free  from  care.  From  time  to  time  there  rose 
up  in  me  some  painful  memory  of  the  Comte  de  Nan- 
sac  and  all  our  misfortunes,  like  the  prick  of  a  thistle 
in  my  flesh;  but  labor  somewhat  deadened  it.  During 
the  week  I  would  work  hard  all  day,  and  I  ate  like 
a  wolf  and  slept  like  a  log.  On  Sunday  after  mass, 
I  played  at  skittles  with  the  other  boys  of  the  little 
town,  or  at  pitching  sous,  or  again  at  hide  and  seek. 
In  the  winter  we  used  to  shell  nuts  in  the  houses,  and 
afterwards  each  of  us  went  in  his  turn  to  make  oil 
in  the  mill  at  La  Grandie.  And  then  there  were  even- 
ings when  we  helped  the  neighbors  husk  the  maize 
and  shell  the  chestnuts  for  the  next  day,  while  the 
women  spun  and  the  old  people  told  stories.  Finally, 
a  fortnight  before  Christmas,  we  boys  went  to  ring 
la  Luce,  as  we  called  this  bell-ringing;  and  you  may 
be  sure  the  church-bell  was  very  conscientiously  swung. 

At  the  festival  of  Saint  Sylvestre,  we  went  from 
village  to  village,  singing  la  Guilloniaou  or  the  New 
Year's  mistletoe,  which  can  be  translated  into  French 
as  follows: 

At  Paris  there  is  a  lady 
Who  has  married  rich.  ... 

166 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  167 

The  New  Year's  mistletoe  we  beg 
For  the  last  day  of  the  year. 

She  combs  her  hair  and  looks  in  the  glass. 
In  a  handsome  silver  mirror.  .  .  . 
The  New  Year's  mistletoe  we  beg 
For  the  last  day  of  the  year. 

She  used  to  wear  fine  dresses 
Sewed  with  fine  white  thread.  .  .  • 
The  New  Year's  mistletoe  we  beg 
For  the  last  day  of  the  year. 

But  now  she  wears  her  dresses 
Sewed  with  silver  thread.  .  .  . 
The  New  Year's  mistletoe  we  beg 
For  the  last  day  of  the  year. 

Or  else  the  song  that  begins  thus: 

At  Paris  on  the  little  bridge, 

The  New  Year's  mistletoe  we  beg, 

At  Paris  on  the  little  bridge, 

My  captain ! 
The  New  Year's  mistletoe  we  beg, 

And  then  the  gift ! 

There  were  three  ladies  on  this  bridge.  .  .  . 

And  we  would  go  into  the  houses  where  there  were 
girls,  especially,  to  ask  them  for  the  New  Year's 
present  of  a  kiss. 

Both  these  songs  speak  of  Paris,  Paris  the  great 
city.  This  is  because,  for  the  poor  peasant  of  Perigord 
in  olden  times,  Paris  was  the  paradise  of  rich  and 


168  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

beautiful  ladies.  Pampelune  had  also  caught  his  im- 
agination, as  a  far-off  country,  almost  chimerical.  Of 
the  man  from  whom  nothing  had  been  heard  for  long 
years,  we  said:  "He  is  at  Pampelune."  When  we  spoke 
of  a  country,  the  situation  of  which  we  were  ignorant 
of,  we  said:  "It  is  at  Pampelune." 

Why  Pampelune  rather  than  any  other  city?  The 
cure  Bonal  said  it  came  perhaps  from  the  fact  that 
one  Cardinal  d'Albret,  who  was  very  powerful  in  Peri- 
gord  at  one  time,  was  Bishop  of  Pampelune,  the  old 
capital  of  the  kingdom  of  Navarre.  I  know  nothing 
about  it ;  I  leave  it  to  other  and  wiser  heads. 

In  summer  there  was  no  more  opportunity  for  all 
these  amusements.  We  had  time  only  to  work,  to 
eat  and  to  sleep ;  and  yet  not  to  sleep  too  much.  Dur- 
ing the  haymaking  and  the  harvest,  we  had  to  rise 
at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  sometimes  if  rain 
threatened,  it  was  nine  in  the  evening  before  we  had 
finished  getting  in  the  hay  or  the  grain.  All  this 
was  broken  only  by  Sundays  and  by  a  few  holidays 
like  Christm.as,  Assumption,  and  All  Saints'  Day. 

In  regard  to  this  last  festival,  which  falls  on  the 
eve  of  All  Souls'  Day,  there  was  observed  in  certain 
houses,  and  those  not  the  most  ignorant,  a  very  curious 
old  custom. 

That  evening  there  was  a  family  dinner,  and  during 
the  meal  there  was  talk  of  the  dead  relatives,  of  their 
qualities,  their  virtues,  even  of  their  failings,  and — • 
as  was  even  stranger — their  health  was  drunk,  with 
clinking  glasses.     This  supper  had  to  be  made  up  of 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  169 

nine  dishes,  such  as,  soup,  boiled  beef,  fricassee,  stew, 
veal  stew,  pie,  etc. 

When  the  meal  was  ended,  they  left  on  the  table 
the  meats  and  all  that  remained  of  the  various  dishes, 
as  a  supper  for  the  dead;  if  there  was  not  enough 
wine  and  bread,  more  was  brought. 

After  that  they  made  a  good  fire,  and  arranged  the 
chairs  in  a  half-circle  about  the  hearth.  Then,  having 
recited  prayers  for  them,  they  retired,  in  order  to 
leave  the  place  to  the  dead. 

The  cure  Bonal  said  that  all  this  savored  strongly 
of  superstition;  but  because  of  the  prayers  and  the 
pious  intentions,  he  was  inclined  to  close  his  eyes  to 
it.  Besides  all  these  festivals,  there  was  our  vote, 
or  merrymaking,  which  fell  on  the  226.  of  August, 
and  the  festivals  of  the  neighboring  parishes,  like  Bars, 
Auriac,  Thonac,  which  we  seldom  missed.  But  the 
place  we  never  failed  to  go  to  was  Montignac,  on  the 
25th  of  November,  to  the  great  fair  of  St.  Catherine's 
Day.  This  was  never  missed;  on  that  day  nobody 
remained  in  the  little  town,  except  the  cure.  Mile. 
Hermine  and  La  Ramee,  the  very  old  who  could  not 
leave  the  chimney  corner,  and  the  smallest  babies. 
There  were  many  silly  women  who  dragged  their  little 
tots  there  by  the  hand,  or  carried  them  in  their  arms 
when  they  were  too  small.  The  Chevalier  himself  went 
on  his  mare  to  meet  his  friends,  the  petty  nobility 
of  the  neighborhood,  and  to  eat  with  them  a  calf's- 
head  or  a  stuffed  turkey  at  the  Soleil  d'Or. 

At  that  time,  things  went  along  quite  to  my  heart's 


170  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

desire;  everyone  was  satisfied  with  me,  and  I  was 
very  grateful  to  those  who  were  so  good  to  me.  But 
"if  Hfe  always  suited  everyone  on  the  earth,  no  one 
would  wish  to  go  to  Paradise,"  as  the  Chevalier  used 
to  say. 

For  some  time  this  excellent  and  worthy  man  had 
not  been  happy.  In  his  gazette  he  was  reading  news 
from  Paris  which  did  not  please  him.  Politics  were 
taking  a  bad  turn:  four  sergeants  of  La  Rochelle  had 
been  guillotined,  and  some  generals  and  officers  shot; 
the  returned  Jesuits  were  everywhere  in  power  again 
and  were  bad  masters.  The  missionaries  sent  out  by 
them  preached  from  town  to  town,  inciting  persecu- 
tion of  non-believers  and  Jacobins,  and  sometimes 
riots  which  were  harshly  suppressed.  All  this  caused 
a  general  discontent  throughout  the  whole  of  France, 
which  favored  the  development  of  secret  societies. 

"You  will  see,'*  said  the  Chevalier,  as  he  related 
all  this,  "you  will  see,  these  ultras  will  end  by  getting 
the  king  sent  back  into  exile." 

What  these  ultras  were  I  had  no  idea,  but  from  all 
this  talk  I  imagined  that  they  were  a  sort  of  royalists, 
like  the  Comte  de  Nansac. 

As  for  the  missionaries,  the  thing  was  proven,  for 
at  Montignac  they  had  planted  a  cross  on  the  square, 
exactly  on  the  former  site  of  the  Tree  of  Liberty, 
and  by  their  violent  exhortations  and  words  of  hatred, 
they  had  managed  to  rouse  up  a  gang  of  blackguards 
against  those  patriots  who  were  known  for  their  at- 
tachment to  the  cause  of  the  Revolution. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  171 

"These  devilish  missionaries,"  added  the  Chevalier, 
"almost  had  old  Cassius  thrown  into  the  Vezere, — the 
man  who  once  upon  a  time  saved  my  sister  and  me." 

And  as  the  cure  inquired  about  this,  he  continued: 

"Yes,  one  day  at  the  Societe  Populaire,  a  red-hot 
patriot  demanded  that  the  former  nobles,  La  Jalage 
and  his  sister,  should  be  interned;  but  Chabannais, 
who  was  called  Cassius,  rose  and  said: 

"  'Leave  the  citizen  and  citizenness  La  Jalage  in 
peace!  It  is  they  who  support  the  poor  in  this  com- 
mune, and  there  are  plenty  of  them  here.' 

"Twice  he  spoke  in  our  defense,  and  in  the  end 
made  the  assembly  pass  to  the  order  of  the  day." 

"But,"  said  the  cure,  "you  say.  La  Jalage?  Is  that 
your  name,  then?" 

"Certainly;  it  is  our  family  name.  Galibert  is  the 
name  of  the  land.  We  are  descended  from  the  famous 
Jean  de  la  Jalage,  whose  crude  memorial  statue  you 
see  in  a  square  niche  on  the  outside  wall  of  the  Church, 
which  he  once  defended  against  the  English  soldiers." 

And,  taking  time  by  the  forelock,  the  Chevalier,  who 
was  a  great  story-teller,  related  the  tale  of  Jean  de 
la  Jalage. 

"He  was,"  said  he,  "a  sergeant-at-arms  of  the  time 
of  Charles  VL  He  had  followed  Marshal  Boucicaut 
in  his  expedition  against  Archambaud,  the  last  Count 
of  Perigord,  and  had  later  established  himself  at  Fan- 
lac,  after  the  capture  of  Montignac  in  1398.  At  this 
time  the  English  were  in  our  country,  so  that  a  sort 
of  troop  of  these  brigands,  mixed  with  marauders, 


172  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

on  their  way  through  Perigord,  passed  by  le  Cern 
and  Auriac/  and  turned  towards  Fanlac.  Our  church 
was  fortified,  as  it  still  is  to-day.  Jean  de  la  Jalage 
had  it  stocked  with  provisions,  and  made  the  people 
of  the  parish  retire  there;  so  that  when  the  EngHsh 
arrived,  they   found  they  had  met  their  match. 

"There  were  several  assaults,  all  repulsed,  and  it 
was  in  the  sortie  made  to  put  these  ruffians  to  flight, 
that  Jean  de  la  Jalage  received  a  blow  from  a  battle- 
axe  which  struck  off  his  arm.  That  is  the  reason  why 
his  statue  shows  him  with  only  one  arm.  The  English, 
soundly  thrashed,  went  off  in  the  direction  of  Rouf- 
fignac,  leaving  half  of  their  band  dead  around  the 
church.  It  was  as  a  reward  for  this  deed  of  arms 
and  for  his  former  services  that  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
then  Count  of  Perigord,  gave  to  my  ancestor  the  fief 
of  Galibert,  the  name  of  which  he,  as  well  as  his 
descendants,  took,  so  that  the  name  of  La  Jalage  has 
been  entirely  abandoned.  Cassius  therefore  called  us 
La  Jalage,  in  the  same  way  that  they  called  poor  Louis 
XVI,  Capet." 

*'Now,"  said  the  cure,  'T  understand  your  coat-of- 
arms.  The  jalage,  in  patois,  is  the  gorse,  or  spiney 
broom." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Chevalier,  "Jean  de  la  Jalage,  en- 
nobled and  possessed  of  the  fief  of  Galibert,  took  for 
his  arms  a  spiney  flowering  gorse  of  golden  sinople, 
on  a  background  of  silver,  with  the  device: — *He  who 
touches  will  be  pricked !'   And  indeed  he  was  a  rough 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  173 

man  whom  it  was  not  good  to  brush  against,  even 
after  he  was  disabled.  ..." 

I  have  said  that  the  ChevaHer  was  not  pleased  with 
the  way  affairs  were  going,  but  soon  the  cure  had  even 
more  to  complain  of. 

A  few  days  after  the  story  of  Jean  de  la  Jalage, 
the  rural  postman  of  Montignac  brought  him  a  letter 
sealed  with  violet  wax,  which  had  come  from  Peri- 
gueux.  After  reading  it,  the  cure  came  to  the  Chev- 
alier and  said  he  needed  to  send  me  to  La  Granval. 

*'He  belongs  to  you  more  than  to  me,"  said  the 
Chevalier;  "the  permission  is  unnecessary." 

When  I  had  quickly  dressed,  the  cure  said  to  me: 

"You  are  to  go  to  La  Granval  and  find  Le  Rey, 
and  you  are  to  tell  him  that  I  need  an  advance  of 
ten  ecus  on  the  contract  of  St.  John's  Day.  It  is  not 
necessary  to  hurry ;  sleep  there  and  return  to-morrow. 
That  will  be  soon  enough." 

So  I  went  off,  taking  the  shortest  possible  cuts.  I 
crossed  the  heath  beyond  Fanlac,  and  went  straight  to 
La  Granval,  by  way  of  Chambor,  Saint-Michel  and 
Lac-Viel.  When  I  arrived,  Le  Rey's  wife  could  not 
believe  that  it  was  I: 

"My  God!    It  cannot  possibly  be  you,  Jacquou!" 

When  I  had  recalled  to  her  all  that  had  happened 
at  the  time  of  our  misfortunes,  she  was  finally  con- 
vinced. Le  Rey,  coming  back  a  little  later,  recognized 
me  perfectly,  and  said : 

"Well,  here  you  are  full-fledged,  my  boy!" 


174  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

That  evening,  I  took  supper  with  these  good  peoplCf 
and  they  then  had  me  spend  the  night.  When  I  was 
in  bed  in  this  house  where  my  poor  father  had  been 
captured,  I  had  melancholy  thoughts  for  a  long  time, 
but  finally  I  fell  asleep. 

At  dawn  I  arose.  Le  Rey  gave  me  the  ten  ecus 
and  I  set  off,  but  not  before  I  had  drunk  a  health 
with  him. 

Here  I  must  say  that  for  some  time  past,  whenever 
I  saw  a  boy  and  girl  walking  alone  on  the  road,  or 
talking  together  on  Sunday  in  the  square,  holding 
hands  and  courting,  my  mind  had  been  turned  to 
thoughts  of  love.  And  then,  I  do  not  know  why,  I 
had  begun  to  think  of  little  Lina.  I  wondered  if  she 
was  still  at  Puypautier,  what  she  was  doing,  if  she 
was  as  pretty  as  when  she  was  little;  and  I  thought 
that  I  should  be  very  happy  to  have  her  for  a  sweet- 
heart. All  this  made  me  very  anxious  to  see  her,  now 
that  I  was  in  this  neighborhood.  To  go  to  Puypautier 
took  me  a  little  out  of  my  way,  but  I  was  not  in  a 
hurry.  As  I  approached  the  village,  quite  embarrassed 
as  to  how  I  could  manage  to  see  her  without  her 
knowing  it,  I  met  a  little  girl  who  was  watching  her 
geese,  as  Lina  used  to  do  when  I  knew  her.  When 
I  asked  this  child,  she  told  me  that  Lina  was  tending 
her  sheep,  and  that  she  was  probably  in  the  fallow 
land,  which  she  pointed  out  to  me.  I  went  over  there, 
and  as  I  came  nearer  I  saw  her  quite  alone,  knitting 
a  stocking  and  leaning  against  an  oak  tree  on  the  edge 
of  the  field,  while  her  sheep  were  cropping  the  short 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  175 

grass.  I  came  close  to  her,  making  no  noise,  and 
said: 

^'Oh,  Lina!    Is  it  really  you?" 

"Jacquou!"  she  cried,  recognizing  me,  and  turning 
quite  pink. 

Then  I  asked  the  news  about  her  and  her  household, 
and  learned  many  things.  Old  Geral  had  married 
her  mother,  and  she  was  now  the  daughter  of  the 
house. 

This  news  scarcely  pleased  me;  I  should  have  pre- 
ferred to  find  her  poor  like  myself.  But  I  was  so 
happy  at  seeing  her  again  that  it  was  only  a  moment's 
disappointment.  She  was  always  gentle  and  lovable, 
was  Lina.  Now  she  was  a  beautiful  girl,  of  medium 
height,  with  a  good  figure  and  a  pretty  face.  Her 
kerchief  disclosed  her  light-brown  hair.  Her  eyes, 
brown  and  mild,  were  fringed  with  long  lashes, 
shadowing  her  cheeks,  which  were  downy  like  a  ripe 
peach.  And  her  little  mouth,  red  like  a  wood-straw- 
berry, showed  her  white  teeth  when  she  laughed. 

"How  pretty  you  are,  Lina  !'* 

"You're  joking,  Jacquou!" 

"No,  on  my  honor,  I  say  what  I  think!*' 

"All  the  boys  talk  like  that." 

"Ah!  So  there  are  some  who  tell  you  that?"  I 
asked,  pricked  with  jealousy. 

"One  cannot  help  that,  but  one  doesn't  have  to  be- 
lieve them." 

"And  me?   Tell  me,  do  you  believe  me?" 

"You  are  inquisitive,  Jacquou,"  she  said,  laughing. 


176  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

"Oh,  listen,  my  little  Lina.  In  the  eight  years  since 
Fve  seen  you,  I've  often  thought  of  you.  I  seemed 
to  see  you  still,  all  dainty  with  your  curly  head,  watch- 
ing your  geese  along  the  roads,  as  pretty  as  a  wood- 
pigeon.  The  older  Fve  grown,  the  more  my  fancy 
has  turned  towards  you,  and  now  that  I've  seen  you 
again,  you'll  never  go  out  of  my  thoughts,  no  matter 
what  happens." 

''Oh,  Jacquou!  What  a  wheedler  you  are!  .  .  . 
And  where  have  you  learned  to  talk  like  that?" 

Then  I  told  her  my  whole  story,  cursing  the  Comte 
de  Nansac,  and  warmly  praising  the  Chevalier  and  his 
sister,  and  the  cure  Bonal  who  had  taught  me.  I  saw 
clearly  that  what  I  told  her  pleased  her,  and  that  she 
was  glad  I  had  a  little  more  learning  than  was  usual 
at  this  time  in  our  neighborhood,  where  you  could 
have  sought  for  two  leagues  round  about  the  forest 
without  finding  a  peasant  who  could  read.  From  time 
to  time  she  raised  her  eyes  to  mine,  without  stopping 
her  stocking,  and  from  her  glance,  which  told  me  her 
whole  thought,  poor  girl,  I  saw  that  she  did  not  dis- 
like me. 

Speaking  of  the  cure  made  me  remember  that  I 
had  been  gossiping  there  for  two  hours  and  that  I 
should  be  obliged  to  go  on.  But  first  I  wished  Lina 
to  tell  me  where  I  could  see  her  again.  She  thought 
it  would  not  do  for  me  to  come  and  talk  to  her  at 
Bars  on  Sunday  after  mass,  for  her  mother,  who 
was  always  there,  would  not  think  it  proper. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  177 

"So  ril  not  see  you  again?** 

"Listen,"  she  said,  "I'm  going  to  Auriac  with  a 
neighbor,  on  Saint  Remy's  Day,  the  23d  of  Au- 
gust.  ..." 

"Then  I'll  go  to  the  service  on  Saint  Remy's  Day," 
and,  looking  at  her  lovingly,  I  took  her  hand: 

"Oh,  my  Lina,  at  this  moment  I  am  very  happy. 
.  .  .  Good-bye!" 

And,  at  the  same  time,  I  drew  her  slightly  towards 
me,  blushing,  and  kissed  her. 

"You're  taking  advantage  of  my  kindness,  Jacquou !" 

I  kissed  her  again,  and  went  off,  not  without  many 
a  glance  behind  me.  And  as  I  went  I  seemed  to  have 
wings,  and  felt  that  all  my  senses  were  suddenly 
keener.  The  country  seemed  more  beautiful,  the  trees 
greener,  the  sky  bluer.  In  myself  I  felt  a  strength 
unknown  up  to  that  day.  Sometimes  as  I  reached  the 
foot  of  a  hill,  I  would  be  seized  with  the  need  of 
expending  this  force,  and  I  would  run  up  it,  over  the 
stones  and  underbrush;  when  I  had  reached  the  top, 
I  would  stop,  breathing  heavily,  and  survey  proudly 
the  steep  slope  I  had  scaled. 

When  I  entered  the  cure's  house,  he  was  talking 
with  the  Chevalier. 

"I  keep  coming  back  to  that,"  the  latter  was  saying. 
"What  the  devil  do  they  want  with  you?" 

"Evidently  nothing  good.  It  is  some  trick  of  these 
Jesuit  foxes,  who  want  to  do  me  an  ill  turn  with 
the  Bishop." 


178  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

The  next  day  the  cure,  having  borrowed  the  Cheva- 
lier's mare  and  gaiters,  mounted  her  and  departed  for 
Perigueux  by  the  crossroads,  passing  by  Saint  Geyrac. 

**A  good  journey  to  you,  cure !"  said  the  Chevaher. 
"The  mare  is  steady,  but  hold  her  in  all  the  same  on 
the  descents.  You  know  the  proverb:  'There  is  no 
horse  so  good  it  does  not  stumble.'  " 

When,  three  days  later,  the  cure  came  back,  I  saw 
by  his  face  that  something  had  gone  wrong.  When 
I  asked  him  if  he  had  had  a  good  trip  he  answered: 

"Yes,  Jacquou,  as  far  as  concerns  the  journey  itself." 

I  dared  not  ask  more,  and  led  the  mare  off  to  the 
stable. 

As  soon  as  he  had  learned  of  the  cure's  return,  the 
Chevalier  came  over  to  the  parsonage  to  hear  all  about 
it,  and  in  the  evening  he  repeated  the  whole  story  to 
his  sister.  At  the  time  of  the  Revolution,  the  cure 
had  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  civil  establish- 
ment of  the  clergy,  and  now,  thirty  years  later,  they 
were  beginning  to  badger  him  about  it;  indeed,  they 
had  demanded  from  him  a  public  retraction  of  his 
oath. 

He  had  replied  to  the  Bishop  that  he  had  given  his 
oath  before,  because  it  was  not  a  question  of  church 
doctrine;  his  conscience  did  not  reproach  him  in  the 
matter,  and  he  did  not  feel  inclined  to  retract,  either 
publicly  or  privately.  Whereupon  the  Bishop,  with  the 
air  of  a  great  lord  of  the  Church,  had  dismissed  him, 
urging  him  to  reflect  carefully  before  entering  upon 
a  struggle  in  which  he  would  be  broken  like  glass. 

"These  extremists  among  the  clergy,  that  is  to  say, 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  179 

the  Jesuits  and  their  followers,  will  destroy  religion, 
just  as  the  ultra-royalists  will  destroy  royalty,"  added 
the  Chevalier,  by  way  of  conclusion. 

"And  what  is  the  cure  going  to  do?"  asked  Mile. 
Hermine. 

"Nothing.     He  says  he  will  wait  for  them  to  act." 

Meanwhile,  the  Chevalier  caught  a  chill,  and  was 
obliged  to  take  to  his  bed.  As  his  sister  tormented 
him  to  see  a  doctor,  he  sent  for  me. 

"Master  Jacques,  in  order  to  please  mademoiselle, 
you  must  go  to  Montignac  to  fetch  a  doctor." 

"There  is  a  young  one,"  she  said,  "who,  they  say, 
is  very  skillful.    You  must  get  him  to  come." 

"Not  at  all,  sister,"  said  the  Chevalier.  "Young 
doctors  fill  the  cemeteries  with  mounds.  You  will  go, 
Jacquou,  and  find  that  old  Diafoirus  de  Fournet.  If 
he  cannot  come  you  will  explain  to  him  that  I  need 
a  drug  to  make  me  perspire,  since  I  have  caught  a 
chill.  And  when  he  has  given  you  the  presciption, 
you  will  take  it  to  Riquer,  the  gunpowder-mixer, 
warning  him  not  to  mistake  one  vial  for  another. 
Heaven  preserve  us  from  a  notary's  etcetera  and  an 
apothecary's  quiproquo !" 

"Oh !"  exclaimed  the  cure,  who  entered  at  this  mo- 
ment, "I  see  you  are  not  in  danger !" 

At  Montignac,  that  evening,  w^hen  my  errand  to  M. 
Fournet  was  done,  I  happened  to  pass  by  the  church 
of  Plo,  where  the  missionaries  were  preaching. 
Curiosity  made  me  go  in.  In  the  pulpit  was  a  thin, 
yellow  Jesuit,  with  the  face  of  a  weasel,  who  was 
declaiming  against  Jacobins,  heretics,  and  unbelievers. 


180  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

He  looked  like  one  of  those  hypocrites  who  discipline 
themselves  with  a  fox  tail.  After  giving  a  good  drub- 
bing to  the  enemies  of  religion,  those  devouring  wolves 
engendered  by  the  philosophers  and  the  Revolution, 
he  added  that  this  Revolution  had  been  so  satanic  in 
its  principles  and  works,  that  even  pastors,  having 
charge  of  souls,  had  let  themselves  be  seduced  by  it. 
And  he  cried  out: 

/'Yes,  even  in  the  sanctuary  the  demon  has  made 
proselytes!  Do  not  think  that  I  speak  of  regions  far 
distant!  At  the  very  gates  of  this  town  which,  after 
the  orgies  of  the  Revolution,  has  returned  to  God, 
there  are  some  of  these  wolves  who  dress  themselves 
in  sheep's  clothing  in  order  better  to  destroy  the  souls 
which  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  has  given  into  their 
charge,  and  who  conceal  under  the  mantle  of  a  lying 
charity  the  pride  of  renegades  and  the  vices  of  hypo- 
critical libertines!" 

And  at  this,  the  villain  stretched  out  his  arm  in 
the  direction  of  Fanlac,  so  that  everyone  present  un- 
derstood that  he  spoke  of  the  cure  Bonal,  who  had 
formerly  been  vicar  of  Montignac.  Hearing  that  beast 
speak  in  .this  way  of  the  cure,  I  was  on  the  point  of 
shouting  out  to  him,  in  a  burst  of  anger:  "You  lie! 
scoundrel!"  But  I  restrained  myself,  and  only  said 
it  in  a  low  voice  which  made  several  persons  in  the 
back  of  the  church  where  I  was  turn  around.  Then  I 
went  out,  furious. 

"Is  it  possible,"  I  thought,  "that  a  man  so  good 
and  charitable,  a  priest  of  so  exemplary  a  life  and 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  181 

of  a  character  which  deserves  the  respect  of  all,  should 
be  so  villainously  calumniated  by  his  own  brethren!" 
I  say,  by  his  own  brethren,  because,  besides  the  mis- 
sionaries, there  were  cures  in  the  neighborhood  who, 
in  order  to  placate  the  all-powerful  Jesuits,  took  the 
hint  from  them  and  spread  secretly  a  mass  of  lies 
about  the  cure  Bonal.  They  did  not  love  him  either, 
all  those  clergy  of  the  deanery  of  Montignac,  for  his 
conduct  was  an  accusation  against  them  all.  He  was 
never  seen  at  those  drinking  bouts  which  they  held 
in  each  others'  houses  under  the  pretext  of  a  neighbor- 
hood festival,  or  without  any  pretext  at  all,  debauches 
from  which  they  came  out  with  red  ears  and  stuffed 
stomachs,  gorged  with  good  wine.  When  he  was 
obliged,  for  official  reasons,  to  be  present  at  a  meeting 
or  a  dinner,  he  did  not  pass  the  night  with  the  others, 
playing  stupid  games  of  cards,  but  found  a  good  rea- 
son for  retiring.  The  person  who  spoke  the  worst 
of  him  behind  his  back — for  to  his  face  he  played  the 
hypocrite,  the  dissembler — was  Dom  Enj albert,  the 
chaplain  of  THerm.  It  was  he  who,  going  to  lick 
his  plate  at  the  houses  of  neighboring  cures,  had  for 
a  long  time  been  spreading  abroad  wicked  rumors 
concerning  the  cure  Bonal.  The  cure  knew  it,  but 
paid  no  attention  to  it,  confident  that  his  conduct  stood 
surety  for  him ;  and  indeed,  in  the  parish  he  was  loved 
and  respected  as  he  deserved  to  be.  As  long  as  the 
diocese  was  under  the  Bishop  of  Angouleme,  he  had 
been  left  in  peace.  But  during  the  few  years  since 
they  had  re-established  the  bishopric  of  Perigueux,  he 


18«  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

had  endured  vexations  and  annoyances,  and  he  now 
realized  plainly  that  they  wished  to  ruin  him. 

"If  they  were  dealing  with  me,"  the  Chevalier  some- 
times said  to  him,  "I  would  publicly  unmask  all  these 
bad  Christians!" 

"Yes!  Often  the  blood  boils  in  my  veins;  but  the 
scandal  would  fall  on  religion.  It  is  better  for  me 
to  keep  silent." 

If  he  had  known,  however,  all  that  these  wretches 
said  about  him  and  Mile.  Hermine — as  I  learned  on 
returning  from  the  festival  at  Auriac — he  would  not, 
perhaps,  have  had  so  much  patience. 

For  I  did  go  to  this  service  of  Saint  Remy;  I 
was  careful  not  to  miss  my  appointment,  as  you  can 
imagine.  The  evening  before,  I  took  advantage  of 
a  moment  when  the  cure  had  come  to  see  the  Chevalier, 
to  ask  permission  of  them  both.  When  my  request 
had  been  heard,  the  Chevalier  said: 

"  'At  the  pilgrimage  nearby  there  is  little  wax  and 
much  wine.'  " 

"But,  M.  le  Chevalier,"  I  answered,  "Rome  is  too 
far  away." 

"Oh,  you  would  be  a  Roman  pilgrim,  which  is  the 
same  thing:  'Never  a  horse  or  a  bad  man  grew  any 
better  for  going  to  Rome.'  " 

And,  quite  pleased  with  himself,  the  Chevalier 
added: 

"If  M.  le  cure  consents,  I  am  willing." 

"As  I  know  he  will  behave,  I  am  willing  too,"  said 
the  cure. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  188 

And  I  withdrew,  very  happy. 

The  next  morning,  when  I  had  breakfasted  early. 
Mile.  Hermine  said  to  me: 

"Here  are  ten  sous  to  have  a  good  time  with." 

I  thanked  her  heartily,  and  went  off  full  of  joy. 
I  already  had,  in  sou  and  Hard  pieces,  twenty-two  and 
a  half  sous,  tied  up  in  the  corner  of  my  handkerchief. 
I  added  the  ten  sous,  and  went  off  feeling  rich  already. 
I  went  down  to  Glaudou,  and  then  below  Le  Verdier, 
and  climbed  across  the  heath  to  reach  the  old  highway 
on  the  plateau  near  La  Maninie,  at  a  place  called 
Coupe-Boursil, — a  name  not  any  too  reassuring;  but 
in  broad  daylight,  my  thirty-two  and  a  half  sous  ran 
no  risk.  This  road  was  very  wide,  as  can  still  be 
seen  in  many  places.  They  say  it  is  the  road  followed 
by  Marshal  Boucicaut  when  he  went  to  besiege  Mon- 
tignac.  It  was  very  warm.  Under  the  blazing  sun 
the  buds  of  the  broom  were  bursting  audibly,  scatter- 
ing their  black  seeds  far  and  wide.  I  wore  over  my 
vest  only  a  blue  blouse,  quite  new,  and  I  had  on  one 
of  those  straw  hats  which  the  women  in  our  province 
weave  in  their  moments  of  leisure,  while  going  to 
the  fairs  or  watching  the  flocks.  The  straw  was  not 
as  fine  as  that  of  the  hats  they  sell  everywhere  to-day, 
but  it  was  more  substantial  and  in  the  country  every- 
one wore  these  hats,  that  is,  of  course,  all  the  peasants. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  before  reaching  Quatre-Bornes, 
I  took  a  shortcut  past  the  village  of  Lecheryrie  and 
then  along  the  garden  walls  of  the  chateau  of  Beaupuy, 
from  which  I  finally  descended  into  the  valley  of  the 


184  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

Laurence,  where  lies  the  chapel  of  Saint  Remy,  a  short 
quarter  of  a  league  above  Auriac. 

Close  to  the  fields,  on  the  edge  of  the  old  road, 
in  a  sort  of  common,  is  built  the  old  chapel,  with  two 
gables  ornamented  by  grimacing  figures.  Round  about, 
on  the  stony,  sandy  soil,  the  grass  grows  thin  and 
short,  but  close  against  the  walls,  the  ground,  well 
manured  by  the  passers-by,  raises  masses  of  nettles, 
wild  carrots,  donkey  cabbage,  spicy,  luxuriant  mint. 
At  ordinary  times  this  place  has  a  dismal,  abandoned 
air,  and  the  building,  its  walls  blackened  by  the  cen- 
turies, resembles  a  great  cemetery  chapel. 

On  days  of  pilgrimage,  on  the  other  hand,  the  spot 
is  noisy  and  animated.  People  come  from  afar  rather 
than  from  nearby;  the  saints  are  like  the  prophets, 
they  have  not  much  honor  at  home.  The  neighboring 
parishes,  above  and  below  Montignac,  send  many  pil- 
grims, but  it  is  especially  from  lower  Limousin  that 
people  flock  there.  Only,  since  these  folk  from 
Limoges  never  lost  their  heads  on  account  of  religion 
— although  they  have  plenty  of  it — they  bring  in  their 
mule-baskets  the  fruits  of  the  season,  especially  melons. 
It  might  be  called  the  feast  of  melons,  there  are  so 
many  of  them.  On  beds  of  straw  they  are  spread  out 
there,  little,  big,  of  all  varieties,  round  like  a  ball, 
oval  like  an  egg,  flattened  at  both  ends, — melons  with 
sides  that  are  smooth,  rough,  green,  yellow,  gray, — 
how  can  I  mention  them  all!  And  how  they  sell! 
It  is  a  fruit  new  to  the  neighborhood,  for  the  country 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  185 

about  Brives  and  d'Objat  is  much  more  seasonable 
than  here,  so  that  those  people  from  our  district  who 
have  come  to  the  celebration  are  very  anxious  to  take 
back  a  melon.  It  is  a  sort  of  proof  that  one  has 
been  to  Saint  Remy  of  Auriac. 

I  say  of  Auriac,  because  Saint  Remy  has  still  an- 
other celebration  in  Perigord;  it  is  at  Saint  Raphael, 
on  the  heights,  between  Cherveix  and  Excideuil. 
There,  in  the  church,  is  the  tomb  of  the  saint,  on 
which  people  sat  astride,  just  as  at  Auriac  they  rubbed 
themselves  against  the  statue,  to  cure  themselves  of 
all  sorts  of  pains  and  illnesses.  And  they  are  cured 
there  as  they  are  at  Auriac. 

In  former  times,  the  tomb  of  Saint  Remy  was  not 
in  the  town  of  Saint  Raphael,  but  at  a  sort  of  cross- 
roads where  four  parishes  came  together, — Cherveix, 
Anlhiac,  Saint  Medard  and  Saint  Raphael.  As  this 
tomb  attracted  a  great  many  people,  these  four  parishes 
quarreled  over  it.  One  day  the  men  of  Anlhiac 
brought  their  best  oxen  and  fastened  them  to  the  stone 
of  the  tomb,  but  could  not  stir  it  an  inch.  The  people 
of  Saint  Medard  tried  next  but  succeeded  no  better. 
Then  the  rich  landowners  of  Cherveix,  with  their  big 
strong  oxen  of  the  plains,  blessed  for  the  occasion, 
went  up  in  their  turn  and  tried  to  drag  away  this 
stone,  but  with  no  more  success  than  the  others. 
Finally,  the  people  of  Saint  Raphael  came  in  a  proces- 
sion with  a  donkey,  all  they  had,  poor  souls! — and 
after  the  cure  had  invoked  the  great  Saint  Remy,  the 


18«  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

donkey  was  fastened  to  the  tomb,  and  easily  dragged 
the  stone  across  the  waste  land  as  far  as  Saint  Raphael, 
where  it  remains. 

That  is  the  way  the  people  of  the  district  tell  the 
story;  as  for  me,  I  do  not  guarantee  anything. 

To  return  to  the  celebration  at  Auriac:  it  is  also 
a  basket-fair,  not  those  baskets  of  coarse  osier  for 
gathering  or  picking  up  nuts  and  chestnuts — but  those 
pretty  white  wicker  baskets  in  all  shapes, — the  great 
flat  baskets  that  girls  use  for  picking  strawberries, 
as  well  as  those  handsome  round  or  square  baskets 
with  two  lids,  which  hold  so  many  things  when  one 
comes  back  from  the  fair. 

Also,  to  sustain  those  who  have  come  from  a  long 
distance,  there  are  bakers  from  Montignac,  selling 
rolls  and  breads  made  of  eggs  flavored  with  fennel; 
and  also  sellers  of  ring  cakes.  Then,  against  the 
hedgerows  in  the  shadow,  well  sheltered  with  boughs, 
are  little  booths  on  stands,  where  wine  is  sold  by  the 
pot  or  by  the  pint. 

When  I  had  passed  the  mill  of  Beaupuy  and  was 
on  the  little  height  dominating  the  valley,  I  stopped, 
and  tried  to  recognize  Lina  in  the  crowd  of  people 
about  the  chapel,  but  I  could  not  do  so.  I  saw  white 
headdresses,  colored  kerchiefs,  women's  straw  hats, 
checkered  fichus,  but  that  was  all.  So,  walking  on, 
I  finally  reached  the  chapel  and  began  to  search  among 
all  these  people.  I  was  quite  a  time  walking  about 
everywhere,  climbing  over  the  heaps  of  melons,  the 
baskets  of  peaches,  shoving  people  aside  and  work- 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  187 

ing  my  elbows  to  make  way  for  myself;  but  I 
did  not  see  Lina.  **That  mean  mother  of  hers,"  I 
thought,  "has  perhaps  prevented  her  from  com- 
ing. ..."  While  I  stood  there,  very  much  put  out  by 
this  idea,  there  came  up  from  the  little  town,  along 
the  road  bordered  by  thick  hedges,  the  procession  of 
pilgrims.  As  I  was  looking  to  see  if  Lina  was  in 
the  ranks,  I  heard  someone  say  behind  me: 

"Well,  he's  thinking  sweet  thoughts  about  you!" 

I  turned  quickly,  and  saw  Lina  with  another  girl. 

"Ah,  there  you  are!  And  how  are  you?  It's  a  long 
time  I've  been  looking  for  you.  Where  were  you, 
now  ?" 

"We've  only  just  arrived." 

And  I  said  to  myself:  "If  she  had  been  there,  I 
should  certainly  have  seen  her." 

So  the  three  of  us  began  to  chatter,  not  about  any- 
thing very  remarkable  perhaps;  but  it  is  enough  to 
be  with  the  girl  one  loves,  to  be  happy.  From  certain 
words,  sometimes,  one  understands  that  she  wishes  to 
express  something  beyond  the  bare  meaning  of  what 
she  says,  and  one  does  understand  even  if  one  is  not 
very  clever;  for,  in  affairs  of  this  sort,  one  always 
has  wits  enough.  Then  there  is  the  delight  of  her 
presence,  the  eyes  that  speak  too,  the  hands  that  clasp 
each  other;  you  watch  the  movement  of  her  quick, 
smiling  lips,  and  you  are  happy  over  the  little  musical 
laughs  that  reveal  her  strong,  white  teeth. 

While  we  were  gossiping,  the  procession  arrived. 
At  the  head,  as  was  proper,  came  the  sacristan,  a  little. 


188  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

dark  man,  who  had  rather  a  hypocritical  air,  and  was 
rejoicing  in  advance — one  could  see  that  in  his  eyes — 
at  what  this  day  was  going  to  bring  him.  After  him, 
in  two  lines,  came  the  more  devout  of  the  pilgrims, 
who  had  just  heard  mass  in  the  parish  church,  and 
were  now  coming  to  the  mass  of  Saint  Remy,  which 
was  much  more  highly  esteemed  on  that  day.  These 
pilgrims  were,  first,  the  women  of  the  parishes  about 
Montignac ;  then,  those  who  had  come  from  the  slope 
of  Salignac,  (which  stretches  towards  Quercy),  with 
their  heads  covered  with  handkerchiefs  in  red  and 
yellow  checks,  and  dressed  in  skirts  of  drugget  with 
red  aprons;  then  there  were  others  who  had  come 
from  the  slope  of  Thenon  and  of  Gabillou,  in  blue 
stockings,  caps  with  lappets,  and  very  wide  fichus  of 
printed  calico,  held  in  front  by  their  cotton  aprons. 
Then  came  the  largest  crowd,  mostly  women,  from 
lower  Limousin,  near  the  borders  of  Auvergne,  wear- 
ing caps,  black  as  monks',  of  woolen  lace,  and  over 
them  black  straw  hats  which  had  high  crowns  and 
brims  in  front  that  looked  like  great  visors.  They 
walked  heavily,  in  clumsy,  hob-nailed  shoes,  as  did 
their  husbands.  The  men  were  dressed  in  the  fashion 
of  their  province,  in  breeches  of  coarse  sackcloth  or 
drugget;  there  were  few  blouses,  but  instead  round 
fustian  jackets  of  strong  blue  cloth,  with  pockets  in 
their  narrow  backs.  And  you  recognized  the  men  who 
were  careful  of  their  money  by  the  bit  of  bread  which 
swelled  a  pocket  on  one  side,  and  the  small  flask  of 
earthenware,  projecting  from  the  other,  stoppered  with 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  189 

a  carrot  or  a  corn-husk.  Some,  instead  of  bread,  had 
a  ring  cake  in  their  pocket,  but  these  were  considered 
extravagant. 

All  these  men,  with  their  large,  broad-brimmed, 
black  hats  in  their  hands,  walked  slowly  on  the  stony, 
dusty  road,  under  a  burning  sun  whicfi  made  their 
eyes  blink.  The  women  followed  slowly,  moving  their 
lips,  their  rosaries  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  a  little 
wax  candle  the  flame  of  which  could  scarcely  be  seen 
in  the  blinding  sunshine.  In  among  the  sound  people, 
one  noticed  lame  men,  dragging  along,  by  means  of 
a  crutch,  a  leg  attacked  with  "Saint  Anthony's  evil," 
or  erysipelas.  Others  had  an  arm  in  a  sling,  wrapped 
up  in  a  clean  white  cloth  for  the  occasion;  and  still 
others  had  strained  their  backs,  as  was  indicated  by 
a  lump  on  the  groin,  under  their  breeches.  Among 
all  these  faces,  burned  by  the  harvests  and  the  farm 
labor,  there  were  the  faces  of  invalids,  yellow,  cadav- 
erous, showing  their  fever  and  pain.  Some  of  them 
were  led  by  the  hand,  half  blind,  with  a  bandage  over 
their  eyes.  All  these  people  had  come  to  beg  a  cure 
from  good  Saint  Remy;  some  had  pains,  or  sickness 
caused  by  those  who  cast  spells  or  chills;  others  had 
the  falling-sickness,  or  scratched  themselves,  consumed 
by  "Saint-Mary's  evil,"  or  the  itch,  which  was  very 
common  at  that  time.  Among  the  sick  were  old  and 
young;  men  worn  out  by  a  heavy  cold  which  had 
settled  on  their  chests;  women  in  poor  health  from 
the  effects  of  childbirth ;  pale  girls ;  children  with  ring- 
worm ;  poor  barren  couples  who,  lacking  the  means  to 


190  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

go  to  Brantome  or  to  Rocamadour  to  touch  the  bolt, 
came  to  ask  a  child  of  Saint  Remy. 

Behind  the  two  long  lines  of  pilgrims  came  the  cures, 
singing  litanies,  some  in  long-sleeved  surpHces,  in  stoles 
embroidered  with  flowers;  and  last  of  all  came  the 
cure  of  the  parish,  in  a  gold  chasuble,  carrying  the 
covered  chalice.  They  were  a  fine  sight  to  see,  all 
in  their  best,  with  red  shining  faces,  very  florid  under 
their  birettas  or  leather  skull-caps,  their  black  or  gray 
locks  falling  in  curls  on  their  necks.  There  was  noth- 
ing the  matter  with  them,  those  fellows.  Oh,  no! 
One  saw  that  at  once !  They  were  old-fashioned  cures, 
good  livers  who  did  not  look  for  knots  in  a  bulrush 
and  drove  their  flocks  towards  Paradise  without 
troubling  themselves  about  the  Sacred  Heart  or  the 
Immaculate  Conception  or  the  Infallibility  of  the  Pope. 
Without  doubt,  there  were  a  few  who  set  people  talk- 
ing because  they  loved  too  well  the  holy  water  in 
their  cellars,  or  had  two  chambermaids,  twenty-five 
years  old,  instead  of  one  of  fifty,  or  some  niece  or 
other.  In  spite  of  that,  they  were  just  as  good  or 
better  than  those  of  to-day,  who  dilute  their  wine, 
and  have  aged  servants,  but  who  are  bilious,  spiteful, 
hypocritical,  intriguing,  stingy,  and  who  seek  among 
their  women  parishioners  what  they  lack  at  home. 

But,  after  all,  such  things  are  all  alike  to  me.  He 
who  likes  to  split  hairs  can  decide  this  question,  if  he 
wishes. 

All  three  of  us,  Lina,  her  friend  and  I,  watched 
with  curiosity  this  motley  multitude,  as  it  filed  past 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  191 

and  was  swallowed  up  in  the  chapel.  The  cures  made 
a  detour  to  avoid  the  heaps  of  melons  and  baskets, 
casting  a  glance  here  and  there,  without  turning  their 
heads,  when  among  the  crowd  about  the  entrance  they 
recognized  some  pretty  lamb  of  their  flock.  When 
they  had  gone  in,  we  entered  the  chapel,  which  was 
packed  full,  although  it  was  quite  large.  One  could 
not  see  very  clearly,  for  the  windows  were  very  small, 
and  heavily  grated  with  iron  bars,  for  fear  of  robbers. 
What  they  could  have  stolen,  however,  I  do  not  know. 
The  whitewashed  walls,  green  here  and  there  with 
damp,  had  no  rich  fixtures.  They  were  bare,  except 
above  the  altar,  where  a  villainous  daub,  in  a  wooden 
frame,  painted  yellow  to  imitate  gold,  showed  the  good 
God,  with  a  handsome  beard,  receiving  Saint  Remy 
into  Paradise.  Undoubtedly,  this  painting  had  never 
been  beautiful,  and  it  was  very  old,  so  that  the  faded 
colors  were  peeling  off  in  spots,  carrying  away  the 
nose  of  the  saint  or  the  eye  of  an  angel  who  was 
playing  the  flute.  The  altar  was  painted  gray,  and 
had  formerly  been  striped  with  blue.  The  big 
chandeliers  were  of  wood,  painted  over  with  a  golden 
yellow  that  was  now  tarnished,  as  were  all  the  colors 
in  this  damp  chapel,  which  smelled  of  mold  and,  as 
one  almost  thought,  of  the  sores  which  had  been  dis- 
played here  for  centuries.  On  a  little  table,  covered 
with  a  sort  of  cloth,  by  the  side  of  the  door,  was 
a  wooden  statue  of  Saint  Remy,  which  looked  as  if 
it  had  been  made  by  the  sabot-maker  of  Auriac,  it 
was  so  badly  carved.    It  had  indeed  been  painted  since 


192  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

with  several  colors,  to  improve  its  appearance  a  little, 
but  the  robe  of  blue,  and  the  cloak  of  red  ochre, 
scarcely  embellished  that  poor  saint. 

This  I  pointed  out  to  Lina,  whispering  in  her  ear: 
"I  could  do  as  well  with  a  pruning-knif e !" 
"Listen  to  the  mass,"  she  said,  smiHng. 
It  was  the  cure  of  Auriac  who  was  saying  it,  oil 
rather  singing  it,  an  old  man,  with  hair  streaked  with 
gray  and  a  good  face,  and  still  vigorous.  He  was 
served  by  two  choir-boys,  and  was  assisted  by  two 
other  priests  in  their  robes,  who  made  great  reverences 
before  him  with  clasped  hands,  and  embraced  the 
articles  in  giving  them  to  him,  lifting  up  his  chasuble 
when  he  kneeled,  in  short,  going  through  a  lot  of 
ceremonies  of  this  nature.  I  thought  it  all  very 
strange,  for  I  had  never  seen  any  mass  but  that  said 
by  the  cure  Bonal,  who  officiated  very  simply.  There 
were  many  women  who  took  communion,  so  that  with 
all  these  ceremonies  the  mass  lasted  a  long  time.  But 
finally  it  came  to  an  end,  and  I  was  not  displeased. 
As  they  were  about  to  go  out,  the  cure  announced 
that  they  were  going  to  lunch,  and  urged  each  of  us 
to  do  likewise,  so  that  we  could  all  be  back  at  two 
o'clock;  the  vespers  were  to  be  sung  with  a  sermon 
and  the  blessing  of  the  Holy  Sacrament,  after  which 
they  would  continue  to  give  the  gospels. 

"But,"  he  added,  "as  there  are  some  here  who  come 
from  a  distance,  and  could  not  wait  so  late,  M.  the 
cure  of  Aubas  is  going  to  remain  to  give  the  gospels 
to  them." 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  193 

And  indeed,  as  soon  as  the  others  had  left,  the 
cure  of  Aubas,  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  assisted  by 
a  sacristan  who  held  a  pewter  bowl,  was  surrounded 
by  a  crowd  of  people  who  demanded  the  gospels.  The 
cure  had  in  truth  said  "give,"  but  that  was  only  a 
manner  of  speaking,  for  one  paid  for  them.  When 
you  had  given  your  sous  to  the  sacristan,  who  threw 
them  into  the  bowl,  he  said: 

"It  is  that  one's  turn.'* 

So  each  in  turn  approached  the  cure,  who  put  a 
stole  on  the  sufferer's  head,  and  recited  the  verses  of 
the  gospel  according  to  Saint  Matthew,  where  it  speaks 
of  the  healing  of  many  sick  and  infirm.  After  the 
gospel,  the  people  went  to  rub  their  bodies  against 
the  saint.  For  the  gospel  did  not  count  so  much  as 
Saint  Remy  did,  especially  as  the  gospel  cost  some- 
thing, while  the  saint  could  be  rubbed  free  of  charge. 
But  it  was  not  the  statue  in  the  choir  that  was  used; 
it  had  done  no  good  to  paint  him  in  colors,  for  no 
one  looked  at  him.  The  real  statue  was  a  little  stone 
saint  which  had  been  pulled  out  of  its  niche,  and 
which  each  person  took  to  rub  against  his  afflicted  part, 
or  to  be  rubbed  with  by  a  neighbor,  when  the  trouble 
was  in  the  spine  or  loins.  They  rubbed  their  stomachs 
with  it,  their  arms,  legs,  thighs,  and  as  much  of  the 
skin  as  they  could.  This  good  fellow  of  a  saint  had 
such  a  reputation  as  a  healer  that  people  called  him, 
in  patois.  Saint  Remedy.  And  when  the  church  was 
closed  during  the  year,  the  passers-by  who  were  af- 
flicted with  ailments  would  go,  full  of  confidence,  to 


194  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

rub  themselves  against  the  outside  wall  of  the  chapel 
opposite  his  niche. 

But  on  days  of  pilgrimage  like  this,  one  rubbed  one- 
self directly.  Those  who  had  sciatica  passed  the  image 
from  the  hip  down  to  the  heel,  outside  their  breeches ; 
but  sometimes  old  women,  crippled  with  pain,  who 
were  not  ashamed  to  show  their  garters,  rubbed,  him 
under  their  skirts,  confident  that  rubbing  on  the  skin 
was  more  efficacious.  Oh,  he  saw  some  fine  things, 
that  poor  devil  of  a  saint! 

When  I  say  he  saw  some  fine  things  there,  it  is 
only  a  manner  of  speaking,  for  he  had  neither  eyes 
nor  nose  nor  mouth.  During  the  centuries  that  had 
passed  since  a  skillful  cure  had  fashioned  the  saint, 
the  statue  had  rubbed  so  many  arms,  legs,  thighs, 
shoulders,  spines,  ribs,  loins,  that  he  was  quite  worn 
off.  Like  those  cardboard  figures  which  modistes  in 
the  country  used  to  use  to  display  their  coiffures,  and 
which  through  much  using  became  nothing  but  balls 
of  frayed  pasteboard  without  features  or  colors,  the 
unhappy  image  had  no  longer  the  face  of  a  saint,  or 
even  of  a  man.  His  arms,  legs,  feet,  hands,  head, 
had  been  so  much  rubbed  that  they  had  quite  disap- 
peared, and  one  could  make  out  no  part  of  his  body, 
not  even  the  face;  everything,  under  this  treatment, 
had  been  blended  together.  It  might  just  as  well  have 
been  an  old  milestone,  worn  away  by  cart-wheels,  cor- 
roded by  rain  and  frost,  as  a  statue  consumed  by 
centuries  of  rubbing.  But  this  did  not  detract  in  the 
least  from  the  faith  of  these  poor  souls  or  their  desire 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  195 

to  be  cured.  They  quarreled  over  the  saint,  which 
each  one  wanted.  Sometimes  two  persons  would  seize 
him  at  once  and  pull  him,  each  in  his  own  direction, 
and  there  would  follow  stifled  protests: 

"It's  my  turn  r 

"No,  it's  mine!" 

"That's  not  true!" 

And  meanwhile  the  cure,  who  had  seen  all  this  on 
other  occasions,  was  reciting  his  verses  from  the  gospel, 
in  the  midst  of  that  muffled  clamor;  and  one  heard 
the  sous  fall  into  the  pewter  bowl  which  the  tired 
sacristan  had  placed  on  a  chair. 

"Let  us  go  out,"  I  said  to  Lina  and  her  friend, 
after  we  had  watched  the  people  for  a  long  time. 

Once  outside,  I  breathed  deeply,  glad  to  be  again 
in  the  open  air.  Then,  after  we  had  walked  about  a 
little,  I  took  the  two  girls  to  the  shadow  of  a  nut- 
tree  at  the  edge  of  a  field,  and  said: 

"Do  not  move  from  here;  I  will  come  back  imme- 
diately." 

And  I  went  off  to  buy  a  melon,  some  peaches,  and 
a  loaf  of  wheat  bread;  I  also  had  a  bottle  of  wine 
drawn  from  the  cask  belonging  to  a  man  from  the 
hill  of  Gardes,  above  Montignac,  where  they  used  to 
make  good  wine  in  those  days.  Altogether,  it  cost  me 
fourteen  sous;  things  were  not  dear  then  as  they  are 
to-day. 

vVhen  the  girls  saw  me  coming  back  loaded  down 
in  this  way,  they  cried: 

"Oh,  what  is  all  this?" 


196  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

"It's  all  right/'  I  told  them.  "Look,  here  are  the 
cures  coming  back.  It's  two  o'clock,  lunch-time;  let's 
eat." 

Lina  objected  a  little,  afraid  lest  someone  from 
home  should  see  her  and  tell  her  mother.  I  managed 
to  reassure  her,  however;  we  sat  down  on  the  grass 
against  a  hedge,  and  I  cut  the  bread  and  the  melon, 
and  we  fell  to  eating  and  chatting  gayly. 

"But,"  all  at  once  said  Lina's  friend,  whose  name 
was  Bertrille,  "how  are  we  going  to  drink,  when  there 
are  no  goblets?" 

"My  faith,"  I  replied,  "you  shall  drink  first  out  of 
the  bottle;  Lina  will  drink  next,  and  I  last.  That's 
the  proper  way." 

"Men,"  she  replied,  "are  thirstier  than  women;  it's 
yours  to  begin." 

"Not  at  all;  I  am  too  polite  for  that!" 

And  I  handed  the  bottle  to  her. 

She  took  it,  winking  one  eye  a  little,  as  much  as 
to  say: 

"Come,  I  understand  you !" 

When  she  had  drunk,  she  passed  the  bottle  to  Lina, 
who  took  a  few  swallows,  and  gave  it  to  me. 

"I  am  going  to  know  what  you  are  thinking,  Lina !" 
I  said. 

And,  taking  the  bottle,  I  began  to  drink  slowly. 

"He  is  going  to  finish  it!"  said  Bertrille,  laughing. 

But  it  was  not  on  account  of  the  wine  that  I  made 
the  pleasure  last ;  as  I  drank,  I  cast  at  Lina  a  glance 
which  made  her  blush  a  little. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  197 

While  we  were  there,  we  heard  the  cures  singing 
vespers  at  the  top  of  their  lungs,  like  men  who  have 
renewed  their  strength,  and  know  that  they  are  going 
to  have  a  rest  at  table  in  the  evening.  But  I  was  not 
curious  to  go  over  there,  nor  were  the  girls,  for  we 
were  comfortable  where  we  were. 

The  bottle  having  been  emptied  at  the  third  round, 
I  wanted  to  have  another  drawn,  so  much  to  my  taste 
was  this  manner  of  drinking  after  Lina.  But  both 
of  them  told  me  I  was  a  drunkard,  and  that  so  far 
as  they  were  concerned,  they  would  drink  no  more. 
Seeing  this,  I  carried  the  bottle  back  to  the  man  with 
the  cask,  and  we  walked  up  to  Auriac,  while  the  preach- 
ing was  beginning. 

The  inns  were  full  of  men  drinking.  These  were 
mostly  men  of  the  parish,  who  felt  no  great  devotion 
for  the  saint,  and  left  him  to  the  itinerant  strangers; 
but  who  loved  him  just  the  same,  because  he  kept 
the  business  of  the  place  going.  They  were  toasting 
him,  glass  in  hand. 

At  this  moment,  the  fruit-vendors  from  the  vicinity 
of  Brives  and  Objat  began  to  leave,  having  emptied 
their  mule-baskets  and  filled  up  their  leather  purses 
with  big  sou-pieces.  Those  who  still  had  a  few  melons 
left,  sold  them  for  almost  nothing  to  the  inns,  or  to 
those  who  had  been  clever  enough  to  wait  until  late 
before  buying.  We  walked  around  for  a  long  time 
in  the  little  town  and  on  the  square,  where  they  were 
dancing  in  the  shadow  of  the  great  elms.  I  danced 
a  quadrille  and  a  boiiree  with  Lina,  and  then  with 


198  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

Bertrille,  and  afterwards  we  all  three  set  off  again 
on  the  road,  Lina  and  I  linking  our  little  fingers, 
(as  is  the  custom  with  lovers,)  while  we  climbed  up 
to  the  chapel.  I  went  in  alone.  The  services  were 
over;  the  benediction  had  been  given,  and  the  cures 
had  left.  But  for  all  that,  people  were  not  leaving 
the  chapel.  Another  priest  had  relieved  the  cure  of 
Aubas,  who  had  recited  the  gospels  first;  indeed  he 
must  have  been  weary.  As  for  the  poor  sacristan, 
who  was  the  only  sacristan  there,  and  who,  perhaps, 
did  not  wish  to  leave  the  bowl,  he  had  to  stay  on. 
But  he  was  consoled  at  seeing  it  fill  up  with  sous, 
among  which  shone  fifteen-  and  thirty-sou  pieces, — of 
all  of  which  he  counted  on  getting  his  share. 

And  the  saint  still  rubbed  and  rubbed,  passing  from 
hand  to  hand,  always  being  disputed  over  and  clutched 
at  by  impatient  people.  Because  of  the  great  heat, 
all  these  people  had  taken  refreshment,  some  of  them 
a  little  too  much;  so  that  the  crowd  was  noisier  than 
after  the  mass.  Some,  as  red  as  cocks,  seized  the 
saint  and  tried  to  wrest  him  from  others  who  resisted 
valiantly,  not  having  had  time  to  rub  themselves.  In 
this  chapel,  smelling  of  moldy  dust  and  close  air, 
there  rose  a  disgusting  odor  from  this  throng  of  people 
with  breath  smelling  of  wine,  dirty,  perspiring,  heated 
by  the  march  and  foul  with  sores.  They  no  longer 
restrained  themselves,  but  spoke  loudly,  unbuttoned 
their  clothes,  and  undid  their  sleeves  to  rub  their  arms ; 
the  women  unhooked  their  bodices  to  touch  the  saint 
to  a  nipple  swollen  by  a  deposit  of  milk,  or  tucked  up 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  199 

their  skirts  and  undid  their  garters  to  rub  their  bare 
legs,  displaying,  without  shame,  their  dirty  knees.  At 
such  sights  there  sometimes  rose  a  ripple  of  laughter 
from  those  who,  like  myself,  had  come  out  of  curiosity. 
But  the  good  believers,  who  awaited  their  turn  and 
had  their  eyes  on  the  saint,  looked  crossly  at  the 
scoffers.  From  the  middle  of  this  dull  buzzing,  this 
hubbub  of  protests,  and  vile  insults,  there  would  rise 
at  times  the  wail  of  an  invalid  pushed  by  a  brutal 
hand,  or  the  cry  of  a  woman  whose  foot  had  been 
crushed  by  a  heavy,  nailed  shoe.  For  all  these  people 
pushed  and  shoved,  walked  on  each  others*  toes,  dug 
their  elbows  into  each  others'  sides,  with  stifled  oaths, 
as  if  they  were  out  of  their  senses.  And  all  the  time, 
at  the  entrance  of  the  little  choir,  the  cure  kept  reciting 
the  verses  from  the  gospel,  and  the  sous  still  fell, 
almost  filling  up  the  sacristan's  bowl. 

From  the  crowded  throng  there  came  out  men  who 
were  buttoning  themselves  up,  women  who  were  hook- 
ing their  clothes,  or  refastening  their  blue  stockings 
with  a  bit  of  hemp  or  string  that  served  them  as 
garters.  And  little  by  little,  as  no  others  arrived,  the 
mass  of  those  people  who  had  satisfied  their  super- 
stitious mania  diminished,  and  soon  there  were  left 
only  a  few  foolish  old  women  who  could  not  make 
up  their  minds  to  go.  Then,  from  the  corners  of  the 
chapel  where  they  were  waiting,  there  dragged  them- 
selves out  haltingly,  the  sick,  the  infirm,  the  crippled, 
the  helpless,  who  had  not  dared  to  thrust  themselves 
into  the  crowd,  where  they  would  have  been  crushed, 


200  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

and  who  now  came  to  rub  themselves  in  their  turn, 
displaying  without  shame  their  hideous  ailments,  and 
helping  each  other  charitably  when  the  location  of  the 
afflicted  spot  made  it  necessary.  The  unlucky  saint 
was  still  rubbing  a  few  twisted  backs,  a  few  disabled 
legs,  a  few  withered  arms.  He  endured  once  more 
the  dirty  touch  of  caked  or  open  sores,  of  suppurating 
ulcers,  and  was  finally  put  back  in  his  niche,  in  peace 
for  a  year,  by  the  sacristan,  who  now  for  want  of 
customers,  had  stopped  receiving  the  sous,  as  the  cure 
had  stopped  reciting  the  gospels.  And,  since  everyone 
had  left,  there  remained  on  the  flagging,  covered  with 
earth  and  mortar  brought  in  by  the  feet  of  the  devo- 
tees, only  buttons  torn  off  in  haste,  and  many  bits  of 
broken  garters. 

I  have  heard  that  since  that  time  this  celebration 
has  fallen  off  a  great  deal,  and  that  people  no  longer 
flock  there  like  sheep,  as  in  the  olden  days.  The  faith 
in  this  trunk  of  misshapen  stone,  which  is  called  the 
saint,  has  disappeared,  as  have  so  many  other  good 
things,  and  no  one  pretends  to  believe  in  it  any  more, 
except  the  people  of  lower  Limousin,  who  keep  up  a 
show  of  faith  for  the  sake  of  their  melons.  But, 
by  way  of  compensation,  those  who  absolutely  need 
to  be  fooled  carry  their  money  to  fortune-tellers  at 
the  fairs,  or  buy  powders  from  charlatans, — which 
comes  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end. 

When  I  came  out,  I  found  the  two  girls,  who  were 
returning  from  a  little  walk  by  themselves,  and  we 
discussed  going  home.    You  can  well  understand  thai" 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  201 

I  wished  to  escort  them  part  of  the  way,  for  I  had 
had  no  chance,  in  this  crowd,  to  speak  quietly  to  Lina. 
To  tell  the  truth,  this  celebration  is  not  very  satis- 
factory for  lovers,  for  one  is  always  in  sight,  in  this 
valley  of  the  Laurence  where  there  are  nothing  but 
fields  and  slopes  of  vineyards  on  each  side,  in  the 
game  preserves  of  the  Chateau  de  la  Faye.  Even  if 
you  have  no  evil  intentions,  you  like  to  be  a  little 
secluded.  Ah !  it  is  not  like  the  pilgrimage  to  Fonpe- 
rine,  where  you  are  right  in  the  middle  of  the  woods. 

So  we  went  off,  all  three  of  us,  following  at  first 
the  highway  from  Angouleme  to  Sarlat,  which  runs 
through  the  valley  along  the  fields  of  Beaupuy,  to 
ascend  finally  to  La  Bouyerie  and  Quatre-Bornes.  I 
had  my  arm  around  Lina's  waist,  and  held  her  hand, 
walking  slowly  and  talking  of  one  thing  and  another, 
— of  how  happy  I  had  been  that  day,  of  all  the  pleasure 
I  had  had  in  spending  it  with  her,  and  of  how  we 
might  manage  to  see  each  other  again.  Bertrille 
walked  alongside  of  Lina,  but  from  time  to  time  the 
good  girl  would  pretend  to  pick  some  flower  by  the 
roadside,  and  stayed  behind  a  little,  so  as  to  allow  us 
to  talk  more  freely.  When  we  reached  Quatre-Bornes, 
I  should  have  left  them,  but  I  said  to  Lina: 

"Fm  going  with  you  a  little  further." 

And  there  we  were,  following  the  track  traced  by 
the  carts  through  the  great  chestnut  woods.  We  were 
so  much  occupied  in  talking,  Lina  and  I,  that  we  were 
near  Orlegie  before  we  noticed  it,  but  Bertrille,  who 
had  no  companion  of  her  own,  said  to  me  then: 


202  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

"You  will  do  well  to  leave  us  here ;  it  is  better  that 
we  should  not  be  seen  together  in  the  village." 

This  annoyed  me  very  much ;  but,  since  I  felt  it  was 
reasonable,  and  was  afraid  of  bringing  reproaches 
upon  Lina,  I  left  them,  after  kissing  them  both, — 
Bertrille  first,  and  then  my  sweetheart,  with  so  long 
a  kiss  that  Bertrille  said  to  me  laughing: 

"You  want  to  eat  her  up,  don't  you !'' 

At  these  words,  I  let  go  of  Lina,  and  they  went 
off.  As  for  me,  I  turned  to  the  left,  and  went  down 
into  the  glen  which  comes  from  below  Bars,  and  fol- 
lowed the  brook  of  Thonac,  which  is  nothing  but  a 
ditch,  as  far  as  the  mill  of  La  Grandie.  At  the  spot 
where  the  Valmassingeas  joins  the  valley  of  the 
Laurence  and  with  it  forms  one  great  valley,  I  came 
across  a  man  who  was  carrying  on  a  stick  over  his 
shoulder  something  round,  knotted  in  a  handkerchief. 
When  you  meet  someone  on  that  day  carrying  a  melon, 
you  may  be  sure  he  comes  from  the  celebration  of 
Saint  Remy. 

"So  you  are  returning  from  it,  too?"  I  asked  him. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  answered,  turning  his  head  a  Httle 
towards  his  melon,  as  much  as  to  say:  "You  see  it!" 

Then  we  walked  along,  talking  together.  The  man 
told  me  he  came  from  Voulparie  in  the  commune  of 
Sergeac,  and  that  he  had  just  been  to  rub  himself 
with  Saint  Remy  for  an  ailment  in  his  head,  which 
seized  him  from  time  to  time  and  made  him  almost 
insane.  Then  he  began  to  talk  of  the  festival,  and 
went  on  to  remark  that  our  cure  was  not  there. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  203 

"All  the  same  there  were  plenty  there,"  I  answered, 
"to  eat  the  stew  of  the  cure  of  Auriac." 

"No  doubt,"  returned  the  man,  "but  for  all  that, 
as  a  neighbor  he  ought  to  have  been  at  this  service, 
to  which  people  come  from  so  far.  But  they  say 
that  he's  not  much  of  a  believer,  and  even  that  his 
conduct  is  none  too  good." 

"And  who  says  that?" 

"They  say  it." 

"Those  who  say  it  are  idiots." 

"In  that  case  there  are  many  idiots  near  my  home; 
for  the  people  do  not  hesitate  to  say  it." 

"And  perhaps  you  are  one  of  those  that  talk  this 
way?" 

"I?  I  only  say  what  I  have  heard,  but  probably 
everyone  in  our  parish,  the  cure  first  of  all,  would 
not  say  it  if  it  were  not  true.  When  a  rumor  runs 
about  like  that,  you  can  safely  believe  it,  for  there 
is  no  smoke  without  fire." 

The  blood  had  rushed  to  my  head,  and  I  scolded  him 
roundly. 

"As  for  the  poor  fools  who  stupidly  believe  every- 
thing their  cure  tells  them,  they  can  be  forgiven,  but 
as  for  him  who  knows  as  well  as  anyone  that  the 
cure  Bonal  is  a  fine  man  and  a  worthy  priest,  it  is 
no  small  offense !" 

And  we  continued  to  dispute  and  quarrel  as  we 
walked,  I  giving  our  cure  all  the  praise  he  deserved, 
the  man  repeating  all  the  evil  he  had  heard  about  him. 
At  last,  opposite  the  little  valley  of  Glaudou,  on  a 


204  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

word  which  he  let  slip  concerning  Mile.  Hermine,  I 
seized  him  violently  by  the  collar  and  gave  him  a  good 
shake : 

"You  rascally  dog!  I  see  clearly  now  that  Saint 
Remy  is  a  rotten  saint;  it  has  been  no  use  for  you 
to  rub  your  head  with  him,  for  you  have  remained 
more  stupid  than  a  donkey!'' 

And  as  he,  on  his  side,  had  caught  me  by  the  collar 
of  my  blouse,  we  began  to  knock  each  other  about 
as  if  we  were  fighting  for  a  prize,  while  the  melon 
rolled  in  the  road. 

The  man  was  five  or  six  years  older  than  I,  but 
all  the  same  I  flung  him  on  the  ground  and  beat  his 
face  with  my  fist,  till  I  made  his  nose  bleed.  Having 
somewhat  worked  off  my  anger,  I  let  him  go.  He 
got  up,  picked  up  his  melon,  which  was  a  little  bruised 
from  f aUing,  and,  seeing  he  was  not  the  stronger,  went 
on  his  way,  not  without  threatening  to  see  me  again. 

*  Whenever  you  like,  you  big  fool  r  I  shouted  after 
him. 

And  climbing  the  rocky  slope  through  the  under- 
growth, thinly  strewn  with  oaks,  I  was  soon  at  Fanlac. 

On  arriving,  I  took  pains  not  to  meet  the  cure, 
but  I  ran  right  into  him.  He  knew  at  once,  from 
my  torn  blouse,  that  I  had  been  fighting,  and  he  asked 
me  for  what  reason.  I  was  a  little  embarrassed,  not 
wishing  to  lie,  not  wishing  either  to  tell  him  what  it 
was  all  about.  When  he  pressed  me  with  questions, 
however,  I  ended  by  confessing  the  whole  business: 

"On  my  word,  M.  le  cure,  it  was  because  of  you !" 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  205 

And  I  told  him  everything,  except  that  the  man 
had  spoken  of  Mile.  Hermine. 

"My  boy,*'  he  said  to  me,  when  I  had  finished,  "I 
am  grateful  to  you  for  the  feeling  which  led  you 
to  defend  me,  but  another  time  you  must  be  more 
patient:  come,  go  change  your  clothes.  .  .  .  " 

Fantille,  to  whom  I  also  had  to  explain  the  rents 
in  my  blouse,  was  not  of  the  same  mind  as  the  cure. 
She  said  I  had  done  well  to  chastise  that  person. 

"I  will  always  patch  you  up,  with  a  good  will,  when 
you  have  been  torn  on  occasions  like  this !" 

"Come,  come,  Fantille.  You  must  be  calmer,  and 
learn  how  to  endure  injuries  and  slander." 

"Oh,  you,  M.  le  cure!  You  would  let  yourself  be 
loaded  with  insults  without  saying  anything!" 

The  cure  smiled  slightly,  and  went  off  to  write  in 
his  room. 

As  for  me,  I  suspected  that  all  these  slanders,  spread 
abroad  by  the  cures  at  the  instigation  of  the  Jesuit 
preachers,  boded  us  no  good.  "Without  doubt,"  I 
said  to  myself,  "they  are  trying  to  discredit  him  in 
advance,  in  order  to  prepare  the  people  for  some 
severe  measure  against  the  cure  Bonal."  It  was  my 
guess  that  they  wanted  to  take  him  away  from  Fanlac, 
and  send  him  off  to  some  wretched  little  parish,  since 
nothing  could  be  more  painful  to  him  than  to  leave 
the  dear  parishioners  who  loved  him  so  well.  .  .  . 
But  I  did  not  really  know  his  enemies  and  persecutors. 

A  few  days  later,  another  letter  arrived,  sealed,  like 


206  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

the  first,  with  violet  wax.  When  he  had  read  it,  the 
cure,  who  was  master  of  himself,  did  not  flinch.  He 
refolded  the  letter,  and  went  out  to  walk  thoughtfully 
in  the  garden.  An  hour  later,  he  went  off  to  find 
the  Chevalier. 

The  latter  did  not  take  matters  as  quietly  as  did 
the  cure.  As  soon  as  he  had  learned  what  the  trouble 
was,  he  cried  out  that  it  was  an  infamy  and  a  piece 
of  gross  stupidity  as  well;  that  the  Bishop  must  have 
lost  his  head  to  do  such  a  thing  as  that,  or  that  they 
had  deceived  him ;  that  as  for  himself,  he  would  never 
be  seen  again  at  mass — in  his  anger  he  shouted  out 
the  word — since  the  Tartuffes  were  shutting  out  of 
the  Church  the  best  cure  in  the  diocese. 

As  the  next  day  was  Sunday,  the  cure  ascended  his 
pulpit  for  the  last  time.  When  he  announced  to  his 
parishioners  that,  according  to  the  decree  of  Mon- 
seigneur  the  Bishop,  he  was  interdicted,  and  would 
never  say  mass  again,  not  even  on  the  present  Sunday, 
nor  would  any  longer  administer  the  sacraments,  there 
was  an  explosion  of  surprise  in  the  crowded  church, 
which  continued  in  a  dull  murmur  that  the  cure  was 
for  a  moment  unable  to  subdue. 

When  he  had  obtained  silence,  he  explained  that  it 
was  the  duty  of  everyone,  parishioners  and  cure,  to 
submit  to  the  authority  of  the  Bishop;  that  as  for 
himself,  he  would  obey  without  resistance  or  murmur, 
although,  since  he  had  never  acted  in  his  own  personal 
interest,  but  only  for  the  peace  of  the  Church,  his 
conscience  did  not  reproach  him.     But  he  added  that 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  907 

this  obedience  cost  him  dear,  for  he  loved  them  all 
as  if  they  were  his  children;  he  had  hoped  to  tell  them 
the  word  of  God  for  many  years  longer,  and  in  the 
end  to  test  in  the  little  cemetery  to  which  he  had 
already  conducted  so  many  of  them.  In  this  strain 
he  spoke  at  length,  w4th  so  much  affection  and  good- 
ness that  everyone  was  touched,  and  the  women,  with 
wet  eyes,  blew  their  noses  hard.  But  this  moment 
of  emotion  passed,  and  anger  took  its  place.  When 
church  was  out,  the  people  gathered  and  told  each 
other  that  they  must  not  let  the  cure  leave.  One  and 
all  grew  so  excited  that  some  of  the  most  resolute 
went  off  to  find  the  Chevalier  de  Galibert,  who,  though 
a  good  man,  was  always  quick-tempered.  The  latter, 
seeing  how  affairs  were  moving,  mounted  to  the  steps 
of  the  old  cross,  and  began  to  address  the  people.  He 
told  them  that  their  cure's  conduct,  his  patience,  his 
resignation  in  these  circumstances,  proved  how  worthy 
he  was  of  their  affection  and  respect. 

"But,  we,  his  parishioners,  surely  have  the  right  to 
behave  a  little  differently.  We  remember  that  once 
the  people  elected  the  cures,  and  took  part  in  the 
election  of  bishops  and  even  of  the  popes.  Because 
a  few  kings  have  had  an  understanding  with  certain 
of  the  latter,  confiscating  our  ancient  privileges,  that 
is  no  reason  why  we  should  forget  these  rights.  The 
whole  parish,  therefore,  should  address  a  petition  to 
the  Bishop,  begging  him  to  continue  our  cure's  incum- 
bency. But,"  he  added,  "since  there  are  scarcely  more 
than  two  or  three  here  who  can  sign  their  names,  we 


208  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

shall  do  as  they  used  formerly  to  do, — call  a  notary, 
who  will  draw  up  and  enter  a  protest  for  us. 

"Taper  talks!' 

"In  the  position  in  which  we  find  ourselves,  that 
is  the  best  thing  we  can  do.  A  dog  can  look  at  a 
bishop;  we  can  at  least  speak  to  him.  Are  you  of 
this  opinion?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  cried  all  who  were  there. 

"Good!  Then  I  shall  send  for  the  notary.  As  for 
you,  come  back  at  vespers.  Be  here,  all  of  you,  with- 
out fail;  let  no  one  stay  at  home.  The  more  there 
are  of  us,  the  more  weight  it  will  carry.  But  I  must 
tell  you  that  people  in  authority,  whether  they  wear 
a  coat  or  a  cassock,  do  not  always  see  things  as  they 
should;  so  I  am  none  too  sure  what  will  become  of 
our  protest.  It  may  go  into  the  stew-pot;  it  may  go 
up  in  smoke.    We  shall  see! 

"  'We  mustn't  stop  sowing  for  fear  of  the  pigeons !' 

"As  for  myself,  I  have  already  said  it, — if  they  take 
away  our  cure,  I  will  never  again  put  my  foot  in  the 
church!" 

"That's  right!   That's  right!   We  won't,  either!" 

"And  if  they  send  us  another,  he  shall  say  his  mass 
all  by  himself ! 

"  *A  dog  is  valiant  on  his  own  ground ;  a  cock  on 
his  own  dunghill !'  " 

Everybody  applauded,  and,  an  agreement  having 
been  reached,  the  Chevalier  sent  me  to  Montignac  to 
find  Maitre  Boyer,  or  someone  in  his  stead. 

At  three  o'clock,  the  notary  arrived,  and  in  the 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  209 

square  there,  black  with  people,  in  the  shade  of  the 
old  elm  where  they  had  carried  a  table,  he  began  to 
draw  up  the  document  and  wrote  his  preamble.  Then 
all  the  people  of  the  parish,  men  and  women,  filed 
past  him,  the  Chevalier  at  their  head,  and  when  he 
had  placed  on  the  document  their  names  and  surnames, 
he  continued  as  follows: 

"  The  above-mentioned,  respectfully  but  firmly  ad- 
dressing Monseigneur  the  Bishop  of  Perigueux,  quite 
as  if  he  were  present,  have  said  and  deposed  that, 
since  the  re-establishment  of  the  Catholic  faith,  the 
said  cure  Bonal  has  given  in  this  parish  an  example 
of  all  the  virtues;  that  he  has  edified  it  with  his  true 
and  sincere  piety;  that  for  nearly  thirty  years  he  has 
been  the  providence  of  the  poor,  the  friend  and  father 
of  his  parishioners,  so  that  all,  old  and  young,  poor 
and  rich,  desire  ardently  to  keep  him  as  long  as  it 
may  please  God  to  leave  him  on  this  earth. 

"  'Finally,  the  aforesaid  witnesses  earnestly  sup- 
plicate Monseigneur  the  Bishop  to  revoke  the  orders 
that  have  been  served  by  him,  and  to  continue  the  said 
Sieur  Bonal  in  his  incumbency  as  cure  of  the  parish 
of  Fanlac;  the  said  witnesses  add  that  the  mere  ex- 
ample of  their  cure  has  made  good  Christians  of  all 
the  members  of  this  parish,  and  that  since  the  welfare 
of  religion  is  in  accordance  with  their  earnest  desire 
to  retain  him,  they  hope  that  Monseigneur  the  Bishop 
will  take  their  present  request  under  consideration. 

"  *And  without  in  any  way  departing  from  the  re- 
spect due  Monseigneur  the  Bishop  aforementioned,  the 


no  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

said  witnesses  protest  very  firmly,  in  case  their  request 
should  have  no  effect,  against  the  evil  consequences 
that  might  result  to  religion  and  its  ministers  from 
a  measure  which  injures  them  in  their  piety  and  their 
affection  for  their  cure. 

"  'Concerning  all  which,  the  said  witnesses  have  re- 
quested me  to  draw  up  this  document,  which  I  have 
granted  them  under  the  royal  seal,*  etc." 

And  when  he  had  had  the  two  or  three  who  were 
able  to  do  so  sign  their  names,  the  notary  affixed  his 
own  signature  with  a  learned  flourish;  for  he  was 
a  notary  of  the  old  school,  as  his  document  showed. 

Two  days  later,  the  Chevalier  took  a  copy,  superbly 
printed,  and  went  off  to  Perigueux  to  give  it  to  the 
Bishop. 

The  latter,  as  M.  de  Galibert  saw,  realized  a  little 
late  that  he  had  made  a  blunder ;  but  as  men  in  author- 
ity do  not  admit  that  they  have  been  mistaken,  bishops 
even  less  than  others,  the  Monseigneur  persisted  in  his 
decision,  in  spite  of  all  the  Chevalier,  who  pleaded 
warmly  the  cause  of  his  friend,  could  say. 

'T  warn  you,  Monseigneur,"  he  said  in  parting, 
'*that  you  will  regret  your  refusal. 

"  'He  who  now  refuses. 
Himself  henceforth  accuses.*" 

The  Bishop,  who  was  considerably  offended  at  the 
liberty  taken  by  this  layman,  did  not  reply,  and  the 
Chevalier  took  his  leave. 

The  evening  before  his  return,  the  cure,  who  was 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  211 

well  acquainted  with  the  thick  heads  of  the  clergy, 
and  knew  that  the  application  of  the  Chevalier  would 
be  useless,  had  sent  me  to  La  Granval  to  get  Le  Rey 
to  come  and  arrange  matters  with  him.  Three  or 
four  days  later,  Le  Rey  came,  and,  since  his  lease  on 
the  farm  had  only  another  year  to  run,  he  consented, 
in  return  for  a  small  indemnity,  to  break  it  and  retire 
to  the  property  which  he  owned  at  La  Boissonnerie. 
When  everything  had  been  agreed  on,  he  returned 
home,  and  the  cure  began  to  think  of  leaving  his 
house;  for  the  Bishop's  refusal,  which  was  soon  known 
to  the  whole  parish,  had  inflamed  the  people,  and  he 
did  not  wish  to  be  the  occasion  of  any  disorder. 

It  was  understood  between  him  and  the  Chevalier 
that  I  should  accompany  him  to  La  Granval,  as  I 
had  asked  to  be  allowed  to  do.  Moreover,  in  spite 
of  the  grief  I  felt  at  seeing  him  in  such  a  situation, 
I  was  a  little  comforted  at  the  thought  of  following 
him  and  being  useful  to  him.  I  began  to  take  away 
the  furniture,  which  did  not  amount  to  much.  Besides 
that  which  I  have  already  mentioned,  there  was  in  the 
cure's  room  a  very  simple  bed  without  curtains,  a 
little  table  covered  with  a  napkin  on  which  stood  a 
basin  and  water-pitcher  of  faience;  another  larger 
writing-table,  covered  with  papers,  a  few  books  on 
a  shelf,  two  chairs,  a  big,  long  trunk  covered  with 
wild  boar's  skin.  That  was  all.  Yet  because  of  the 
bad  roads,  with  Fantille's  bed,  a  few*  provisions,  and 
the  remaining  household  goods,  it  took  three  days  to 
carry  everything  away,  a  little  at  a  time.     I  made 


212  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

only  one  trip  a  day;  besides,  I  was  obliged  to  sleep 
at  La  Granval,  for  it  was  far,  and  the  oxen  were 
slow. 

One  morning,  while  I  was  loading  the  dresser  on 
the  cart,  with  the  help  of  Cariol,  I  saw  coming  up  a 
great  devil  of  a  cure,  thin  as  a  rail,  with  red  skin,  a 
wry  neck,  great  round  eyes,  and  a  crooked  nose,  who 
asked  me  where  the  parsonage  was. 

"Here  you  are,''  I  said,  "this  is  the  door." 

And  an  instant  later,  I  followed  him  in,  to  make 
sure  it  was  the  new  cure.  It  was,  precisely,  he.  With 
the  usual  politeness,  he  inquired  on  what  day  he  could 
have  his  furniture,  which  was  at  Montignac,  brought 
over. 

"We  shall  have  finished  moving  out  to-morrow," 
said  the  cure  Bonal,  "and  the  day  after  to-morrow 
the  parsonage  will  be  free." 

At  that,  with  his  usual  courtesy,  he  offered  his  con- 
frere some  refreshment,  which  the  other  accepted 
hesitatingly,  as  if  he  feared  to  compromise  himself. 
Then  the  cure  called  Fantille,  and  told  her  to  prepare 
a  light  lunch.  Fantille,  however,  instead  of  obeying, 
went  out  in  a  rage  among  all  the  houses  of  the  village, 
saying  that  the  priest  who  was  to  replace  the  cure 
had  just  arrived,  and  that  he  had  the  sort  of  face 
one  would  hate  to  meet  in  a  corner  of  the  woods. 
When  she  did  not  appear,  the  cure  went  out  into  the 
kitchen  and  told  me  to  draw  some  wine,  while  he 
himself  took  the  loaf  of  bread,  with  some  nuts,  in  a 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  «1S 

cloth.  As  I  put  the  bottle  on  the  table,  the  new  cure 
was  questioning  his  predecessor  as  to  how  much  the 
benefice  brought  in,  how  much  they  paid  for  baptisms, 
marriages,  burials,  the  blessing  of  new  houses,  and 
of  the  bed  of  the  newly-married;  whether  the  parish- 
ioners gave  many  presents,  and  whether  there  were 
many  good,  pious  houses  where  they  received  the  cures 
well. 

"As  for  you,"  I  thought,  as  I  went  off,  *'if  you 
secure  many  presents,  I  shall  be  surprised!" 

While  the  new  cure  was  lunching,  the  women  of 
the  village,  moved  by  curiosity,  came  one  by  one  and 
two  by  two,  to  the  little  square,  this  one  turning  her 
spindle,  that  one  knitting  a  stocking  or  weaving  straw 
for  a  hat.  There  were  soon  a  score  of  them,  with 
their  children  clinging  to  their  skirts,  a  few  old,  sickly 
men,  and  even  Ca  Ramee,  who  was  smoking  his  pipe. 

At  the  end  of  half  or  three-quarters  of  an  hour, 
if  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  new  cure  crossed  the  square 
on  his  way  home,  and  all  these  people  watched  him 
askance. 

"Well,  my  good  fellow,"  he  said,  as  he  passed  La 
Ramee,  "you're  smoking  your  pipe?" 

And,  as  the  old  soldier,  without  answering,  con- 
tinued to  regard  him  with  disfavor,  he  added: 

"You're  not  much  of  a  talker!" 

"That  depends." 

"Then  perhaps  I  do  not  please  you?** 

"It  is  possible." 


214  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

"You  are  very  free-spoken." 

"I  am  like  that." 

When  he  saw  that  La  Ramee  continued  to  blow 
puffs  of  smoke,  without  uttering  another  word,  that 
the  men  did  not  salute  him,  and  the  women  pretended 
not  to  see  him,  the  astonished  cure  muttered  some- 
thing between  his  teeth,  and  went  off. 

While  he  was  still  within  earshot,  Cariol  shouted 
from  the  cart  to  La  Ramee: 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  puppy?" 

"He's  not  bad,  for  what  I  want  to  do  to  him!" 

The  next  day  the  cure  Bonal  made  the  round  of 
all  the  houses  of  the  commune  to  say  good-bye  to 
everyone,  going  into  the  fields  to  speak  to  the  men 
at  work,  and  forgetting  no  one,  rich  or  poor.  In  the 
evening  he  returned,  tired  out,  looked  sadly  at  the 
empty  parsonage,  and  went  off  to  take  supper  and 
sleep  at  the  Chevalier's  house. 

According  to  what  Toinette  told  me,  it  was  a  sad 
supper,  none  of  the  three  having  any  appetite  for 
food. 

"What  consoles  me  in  this  misfortune,"  said  the 
cure,  "is  my  knowing  that  my  poor  will  not  suffer, 
my  dear  Chevalier,  and  that  you  and  Mile.  Hermine 
will  take  my  place  worthily." 

"My  poor  cure!  Yes,  I  will  try  to  replace  you  as 
far  as  concerns  material  charity,  but  in  the  matter 
of  spiritual  consolation,  of  those  kind  words  that  help 
the  unfortunate  patiently  to  endure  their  troubles,  of 
those  charitable  exhortations  that  support  the  weak 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  215 

.  .  .  who  will  replace  you?    I  know  well  what  ought 
to  be  said,  but  I  cannot  find  the  right  words.  ..." 

"Then,"  said  the  cure,  "in  that  matter  I  am  sure 
Mile.  Hermine  will  replace  me." 

"Certainly,"  she  said,  "I  will  do  gladly  all  that  I 
can." 

And  they  were  silent,  those  brave  hearts. 

The  next  day,  after  breakfast,  the  cure  Bona!  took 
his  stick,  and,  accompanied  by  his  hosts,  set  off  in  the 
direction  of  La  Granval.  All  three  walked  slowly, 
as  if  to  put  off  the  moment  of  separation.  When 
they  reached  the  crossroads,  where  a  stone  cross  has 
stood  from  ancient  times,  the  cure  stopped  and  they 
gave  each  other  their  final  farewells.  The  Chevalier, 
less  resigned  than  his  companions,  kept  protesting 
against  the  decision  of  the  Bishop,  while  Mile.  Her- 
mine, who  had  drawn  out  her  handkerchief,  wiped 
her  eyes,  and  the  cure,  with  lowered  eyes,  kept  tapping 
the  earth  with  his  stick. 

"My  friends,"  he  observed,  raising  his  head,  "we 
should  not  be  good  Christians  if  we  were  not  able 
to  endure  injustice.  This  holy  emblem,"  he  added, 
pointing  to  the  cross,  "teaches  us  resignation.  May 
God's  will  be  done!" 

And  when  they  had  embraced  each  other  fraternally, 
the  cure  began  to  descend  the  steep  valley.  The  stones 
in  the  road  rolled  under  his  feet,  and  he  leaned  heavily 
upon  his  stick  to  support  himself.  Little  by  little  his 
tall  figure  grew  smaller  in  the  distance,  until  he  finally 
disappeared  in  the  wooded  bottom.    Then  the  Cheva- 


216  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

Her  and  his  sister,  who  had  followed  him  with  their 
eyes,  returned  sadly  to  their  home. 

About  five  o'clock  in  the  evening  the  cure  reached 
La  Granval,  where,  with  the  help  of  Fantille,  I  had 
already  got  everything  fairly  well  in  order.  The  an- 
cient house  was  quite  large;  there  was  a  vast  kitchen, 
a  large  room  where  you  could  have  put  four  beds, 
and  two  smaller  rooms.  The  cure  gave  a  glance  at 
the  arrangements,  and  seemed  to  be  recalling,  under  the 
old  family  roof,  memories  of  his  childhood,  for  he 
remained  a  long  time  pensive  before  the  fire. 

As  the  supper  hour  drew  near,  Fantille  put  a  cloth 
at  the  upper  end  of  the  table,  placed  the  cure's  napkin, 
and  then  poured  out  the  soup. 

"From  now  on,"  he  said,  as  he  watched  her,  "we 
shall  all  eat  together.  No  longer  is  there  any  cure 
here,  obliged,  because  of  his  position,  to  observe  cer- 
tain conventions;  there  is  only  Pierre  Bonal,  son  of 
a  peasant,  become  a  peasant  again.  To-morrow  Vire- 
lou  will  come  to  make  me  some  other  clothes." 

"What!"  cried  Fantille,  clasping  her  hands,  "you 
are  going  to  put  off  the  cassock,  M.  le  cure !" 

"Certainly,  since  I  am  no  longer  a  cure,  and  it  is 
forbidden  me  to  wear  it.  .  .  .  Come,  put  the  plates  on 
the  table  for  yourself  and  Jacquou." 

Fantille  hesitated,  no  longer  knowing  where  she 
was;  but  finally  she  obeyed. 

Then  the  cure  rose,  approached  the  table,  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  and  recited  the  Benedicite. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  217 

When  he  had  finished,  he  sat  down,  took  the  big 
spoon  and  served  us  each,  Fantille  and  me,  with  a 
full  dish  of  soup,  after  which  he  helped  himself  less 
plentifully. 

After  supper  we  talked  of  the  way  in  which  we 
should  manage  the  property,  and  I  gave  the  cure  my 
ideas  on  the  subject.  I  assured  him  that  I  was  quite 
capable  of  doing  the  w^ork  well  alone,  but  he  replied 
that  he  did  not  intend  to  remain  idle;  in  spite  of  his 
more  than  sixty  years,  he  was  robust  and  counted  on 
helping  me.  About  eight  o'clock  I  fed  the  oxen,  for 
Le  Rey,  as  is  the  custom,  had  left  the  lease  of  cattle 
which  he  had  received  on  taking  over  the  farm.  After 
that,  we  each  went  to  bed. 

Before  I  fell  asleep,  I  thought  for  a  long  time  about 
how  I  could  manage  the  farm  most  profitably.  I 
understood  that  we  should  have  to  go  carefully  and 
work  hard,  for  the  property  was  not  large,  worth  at 
the  most  about  twelve  thousand  francs,  and  the  land, 
right  in  the  middle  of  the  forest,  was  none  of  the 
best.  But  I  did  not  lack  courage,  and  I  was  proud 
and  happy  to  be  of  service  to  the  cure,  and  show 
him  my  gratitude.  Then,  as  I  must  admit,  although 
I  was  greatly  grieved  over  the  misfortune  that  had 
fallen  on  him,  the  joy  of  feeling  myself  nearer  to 
Lina  gave  me  strength.  Certainly  if  the  matter  had 
depended  on  me,  I  should  have  gone  back  with  the 
cure  to  Fanlac,  well  pleased  to  see  him  happy.  But 
as  that  was  not  possible,  I  consoled  myself  with  re- 
membering how  near  I  was  to  my  sweetheart.    Man 


218  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

is  at  heart  an  egoist ;  all  he  can  do  is  to  conquer  him- 
self when  duty  commands  it. 

The  next  day  Virelou  came,  and  four  days  later, 
the  cure  was  dressed  like  a  good  peasant  in  heavy 
brown  cloth,  and  a  Perigord  hat,  with  round  crown 
and  large  brim. 

It  was  a  Sunday.  He  persuaded  Fantille  and  me  to 
go  to  the  early  mass  at  Fossemagne,  saying  that  he 
would  keep  house  while  we  were  gone,  for  he  heard 
that  his  presence  in  church  might  make  a  scene. 

"But  the  soup!"  exclaimed  Fantille,  who  could 
never  get  used  to  seeing  him  dressed  in  this  fashion. 

"Fear  nothing;  I'll  stir  the  fire  under  the  pot.'* 

She  clasped  her  hands  and  raised  her  eyes  to  the 
rafters,  as  if  to  say: 

"Good  God!    What  shall  we  see  next!" 

We  had  scarcely  returned  from  mass,  Fantille  and 
I,  when  at  the  edge  of  the  clearing,  from  the  direction 
of  La  Maziere,  we  saw  the  Chevalier  coming  out  of 
the  wood  on  his  mare,  which  he  was  urging  into  a 
fast  trot.  A  moment  later  he  dismounted  in  the  court, 
and  warmly  grasped  the  cure's  hands. 

"I  have  come  to  dine  with  you,"  he  said. 

"Welcome,  welcome,  my  old  friend." 

And  while  I  led  the  mare  to  the  stable,  they  walked 
around  the  house. 

"Fortunately  there  is  a  fowl  in  the  soup!"  said 
Fantille,  bustling  about  as  I  came  back. 

While  they  were  lunching  together,  the  Chevalier 
told  his  friend  what  had  happened  on  the  arrival  of 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  210 

the  new  cure,  and  of  the  bad  impression  he  had  made 
on  the  people: 

"I  feel  sure,"  he  added,  ''that  he  will  not  have  many 
at  his  mass,  this  morning." 

"So  much  the  worse,"  replied  the  cure.  "I  am  very 
grateful  to  the  whole  parish  for  the  affection  they 
have  shown  me  on  this  occasion,  but  religion  must 
not  suffer  because  of  personal  preferences." 

Hearing  this,  as  she  went  about  her  business,  Fan- 
tille  shook  her  head,  as  a  sign  of  her  disapproval. 

The  Chevalier  was  a  good  table  companion,  and 
did  honor  to  the  fowl  in  the  pot,  to  the  stuffing  with 
which  it  was  garnished,  and  the  omelet  that  followed 
it.  He  cheered  up  the  meal  a  little  by  throwing  out 
a  few  of  his  familiar  sayings.  For  instance,  when 
the  cure,  who  did  not  drink  unmixed  wine,  absent- 
mindedly  offered  him  water  before  serving  himself, 
the  Chevalier  thanked  him  after  this  fashion: 

"Water  ruins  the  wine;  a  cart,  the  road;  Lent,  the 
human  body." 

They  sat  a  long  time  talking  at  table,  the  Chevalier 
twirling  his  snuff-box,  and  taking  frequent  pinches; 
the  cure,  his  knife  in  his  hand,  tracing  vague  geometric 
figures  on  the  cloth;  each  enjoying  the  pleasures  of 
friendship  after  his  own  manner.  The  Chevalier, 
though  happy  in  the  present  moment,  did  not  forget 
his  grievances,  and  expressed  himself  very  freely  on 
the  subject  of  the  Bishop,  who  had  injured  his  friend 
and  his  cure;  as  for  his  successor,  he  was  not  worth 
flinging  to  the  dogs. 


220  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

The  cure  Bonal,  who  had  perhaps  felt  more  keenly 
the  blow  of  the  separation  from  everything  that  he 
loved,  had,  however,  more  resignation,  and  endeavored, 
in  the  interest  of  religion,  to  mollify  the  Chevalier. 

*'My  friend,"  he  said,  "first  of  all  you  must  get 
acquainted  with  your  new  cure.  He  has  not  been  at 
Fanlac  eight  days  yet;  you  have  seen  him  twice;  how 
can  you  know  his  real  worth?  You  say  he  has  a 
bad  face,  but  he  may  be  a  good  priest  for  all  that. 
You  know  as  well  as  I  that  you  cannot  judge  people 
by  their  looks;  appearances  are  often  deceitful." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Chevalier.  "Do  not  believe  a  ribald 
because  he  swears,  or  a  woman  because  she  weeps; 
for  a  ribald  can  always  swear,  and  a  woman  can 
weep  whenever  she  wishes." 

The  former  cure  smiled  a  little,  and  the  Chevalier 
continued : 

"Besides,  I  am  never  mistaken.  When  you  came 
to  Fanlac,  in  spite  of  your  dark  face  and  rather  rough 
air,  I  said  at  once,  'There  is  a  fine  fellow  of  a  cure!' 
Was  I  mistaken?" 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Bonal,  taking  the  hand  of 
the  Chevalier  across  the  table. 

At  vesper-time,  having  passed  several  happy  hours 
at  La  Granval,  M.  de  Galibert  got  into  the  saddle  to 
return  to  Fanlac,  loaded  with  wishes  for  a  good  jour- 
ney and  warm  greetings  to  his  sister. 

He  had  not  been  mistaken  on  the  subject  of  the 
new  cure's  mass.  A  man  from  Escourtaudie,  whom 
I  met  several  days  afterwards  at  Thenon,  where  I 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  221 

had  been  to  buy  some  sheep,  told  me  that  there  had 
not  been  even  a  cat  there,  so  to  speak.  But  that  was 
nothing  compared  with  what  happened  a  Httle  later. 
A  man  at  La  Galube  having  died  suddenly,  his  rela- 
tives, not  daring  to  do  without  the  priest,  went,  much 
against  their  will,  to  speak  to  the  new  cure  about  the 
burial.  The  latter  told  them  it  would  cost  fifteen 
francs,  and  twenty  if  he  went  to  take  the  body  from 
the  house.  The  dead  man's  son  and  son-in-law  thought 
this  very  dear,  especially  since  the  practice  of  paying 
had  lapsed,  long  years  since,  with  the  cure  Bonal.  So 
they  tried  bargaining,  in  the  hope  of  making  the  cure 
come  down  in  his  price.  But  he  protested  that  that 
was  the  tariff,  and  that  he  did  not  have  the  right  to 
make  any  reduction. 

"For  all  that,''  said  one  of  the  sons,  "since  the  cure 
Bonal  remitted  the  whole  price,  surely  you  have  the 
right  to  remit  half  of  it." 

This  reasoning  put  the  cure  in  a  bad  humor. 

*T  do  not  know  how  my  predecessor  acted,"  he 
replied  sharply,  "but  it  is  as  I  have  told  you :  take  it  or 
leave  it." 

Finally,  after  having  argued  a  long  time,  and 
brought  in  from  one  side  or  another  all  the  usual 
points  of  men  who  are  making  a  bargain,  and  after 
having  gone  out  to  consult  together,  they  came  back 
and  agreed,  on  condition  that  he  should  take  forty 
sous  off  the  price ;  to  this  he  consented.  Only — and  it 
was  there  that  the  whole  affair  came  to  grief — he 
told  them  that  they  must  pay  in  advance,  for  he  had 


222  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

lost  a  great  deal  of  money  in  his  former  parish,  be- 
cause often  when  the  last  rites  had  been  performed 
and  the  dead  buried,  the  heirs  turned  a  deaf  ear  to 
the  question  of  payment,  so  obdurately  that  it  had  been 
sometimes  necessary  to  hale  them  before  a  justice  of 
the  peace  and  have  a  judgment  against  them. 

**Hang  it!"  thought  the  dead  man's  relatives.  "He 
is  no  fool,  that  cure  I" 

Although  far  from  pleased,  they  would  have  paid 
the  money  if  they  had  had  it;  for  it  meant  a  great 
deal  to  them,  as  it  does  to  most  peasants,  to  have  the 
cure  pay  the  last  honors  to  their  father.  But  they 
did  not  have  the  money.  So  they  were  obliged  to 
return,  telling  the  cure  that  since  this  was  the  way 
things  stood,  they  would  have  to  go  without  the  service 
for  the  dead. 

But  a  few  hours  later,  a  dozen  young  men  came 
to  toll  the  knell,  and,  finding  the  cords  pulled  up  out 
of  reach  and  the  inner  door  of  the  belfry  locked,  they 
went  to  ask  the  key  from  the  sacristan,  who  replied 
that  the  cure  had  forbidden  him  to  hand  it  over.  So 
they  forced  open  the  door  of  the  belfry  with  axes  and 
began  to  ring  the  two  bells.  The  cure  came  to  drive 
them  away,  but  he  was  obliged  to  retreat  hastily  and 
lock  himself  up  in  his  house.  At  the  sound  of  the 
bells,  however,  the  village  people  came  from  all  direc- 
tions, and  soon  in  the  rough  road  leading  up  to  the 
village  you  could  see  far  off  a  coffin  covered  with 
a  white  cloth,  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  four  men, 
who  frequently  shifted  the  burden  to  others;  for  the 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  223 

ascent  was  steep,  and  it  was  a  hot  day.  When  he 
left,  the  cure  had  double-locked  the  large  door  of  the 
church,  so  that  the  men  ringing  the  bells  were  im- 
prisoned. When  the  corpse  reached  the  church,  it 
was  placed  before  the  portal  on  chairs  loaned  by  the 
neighbors;  then  they  went  to  the  cure  to  get  the  key. 
But  the  house  was  closed,  and  no  one  answered.  For 
all  that,  those  inside  must  have  been  deaf  not  to  hear, 
for  after  knocking  with  their  fists  and  sticks,  the  men 
ended  by  flinging  stones  at  the  door  and  windows. 
Anger  inflamed  them  all;  exclamations,  scarcely  re- 
strained by  the  presence  of  the  dead,  burst  out  amid 
their  sullen  mutterings.  On  the  rough  faces  of  these 
peasants  was  to  be  seen  the  indignation  aroused  in 
them  by  the  refusal  of  what  they  asked  for:  the  honors 
paid  to  one  of  themselves.  Already  the  boldest  were 
talking  of  forcing  open  the  parsonage  and  dragging 
out  the  cure,  when  those  who  were  shut  up  in  the 
church  managed  to  take  off  the  lock  and  opened  both 
sides  of  the  door.  Then  the  cofiin  was  carried  in 
front  of  the  choir  to  its  usual  place;  the  candles  were 
lighted  around  it,  according  to  custom,  and  the  sac- 
ristan, who  had  been  brought  there  in  spite  of  him- 
self, sang  the  service  for  the  dead,  clad  in  a  cope  and 
trembling  with  fear.  After  that,  they  compelled  him 
to  swing  incense  over  the  corpse  and  sprinkle  it,  just 
as  the  cure  would  have  done.  And  when  everything 
was  finished  at  the  church,  they  set  out  to  the  cemetery, 
where  the  poor  sacristan,  who  thought  he  was  com- 
mitting sacrilege,  was  again  obliged  to  go  through 


224  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

with  the  last  ceremonies,  even  to  the  final  shovelful 
of  earth,  v^hen  the  coffin  had  been  lowered  into  the 
grave. 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  the  Chevalier,  who 
was  very  persistent,  had  been  to  Perigueux  to  make 
a  final  appeal  to  the  Bishop,  and  to  show  him  the 
harm  that  his  decision  was  doing  to  religion,  since 
the  cure  was  saying  his  mass  to  empty  benches. 

*lt  is  to  be  feared,"  he  added,  "that  on  the  first 
opportunity  some  disorder  will  arise,  so  indignant  are 
the  parishioners  over  the  departure  of  the  cure  Bonal, 
and  so  badly  disposed  towards  his  successor,  who 
seems  to  be  trying  hard  to  make  him  still  more  re- 
gretted." 

But  it  was  in  vain  for  the  poor  Chevalier  to  plead 
and  argue  the  cause  of  religion  and  of  his  friend. 
The  Bishop  made  him  understand  that,  in  spite  of  any 
consideration  the  Church  might  feel  for  the  pious  lay- 
men, she  could  not  be  governed  by  their  opinion. 

*'As  a  gentleman,  I  regret  personally  not  to  be  able 
to  grant  your  request,  M.  le  Chevalier,  but  what  I 
have  decided  upon  in  the  fullness  of  my  episcopal 
authority  is  irrevocable." 

As  a  consequence  of  this  burial,  the  gendarmes  came 
to  Fanlac  and  made  an  investigation.  Then  the  King's 
agents  took  away  and  questioned  a  great  number  of 
people.  Many  arrests  were  made,  and  finally  there 
were  a  dozen  sentences  of  from  six  months  to  five 
years  in  prison. 

The  cure  Bonal  was  greatly  distressed  over  this 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  225 

wretched  affair.  At  no  opportunity  did  he  fail  to  tell 
and  have  others  tell  his  former  parishioners  to  be 
patient,  and  not  to  fight  against  the  inevitable;  but 
it  was  useless.  The  sentences  drove  them  into  full 
revolt.  The  new  cure  saw  this  and,  vexed  because 
his  church  was  always  empty,  besides  believing  him- 
self none  too  safe  since  one  evening  when  he  had 
been  almost  hit  on  the  head  with  a  stone,  finally  asked 
to  be  sent  away.  This  request  was  granted,  and  the 
parish  remained  without  a  cure,  to  the  confusion  of 
certain  people  who  had  incited  the  whole  affair. 

Thus  was  verified  the  rather  obscure  prediction  of 
the  Chevalier,  who  had  said: 

"A  time  will  come  when  the  foxes  will  need  their 
tails." 


CHAPTER  VI 

We,  however,  were  very  peaceful  at  La  Granval. 
This  life  close  to  the  soil  agreed  with  me.  I  loved 
to  drive  my  Limousin  oxen  over  the  field,  which  the 
plow  was  breaking  up,  plunging  my  sabots  into  the 
fresh  earth,  and  being  followed  by  all  our  hens  which 
came  to  eat  the  worms  in  the  turned-up  soil.  Even 
the  hard  work  of  the  summer  season,  such  as  mow- 
ing and  grafting,  delighted  me.  It  was  good  for  me 
to  use  my  strength,  and  when  in  the  morning,  after 
I  had  done  a  day's  mowing  in  the  field,  I  saw  the 
grass  wet  with  dew,  cut  smooth  and  closely-shorn,  I 
was  happy.  Then  I  took  my  whetstone,  and  sharpened 
my  scythe  on  it,  as  I  whistled  the  air  of  a  song.  In 
the  evening,  during  the  harvest,  after  I  had  loaded 
the  last  stack  of  grain  on  the  cart,  I  would  feel  a 
stir  of  pride  as  I  saw  all  this  wheat  that  was  to  be- 
come good,  tasty  brown  bread,  and  remembered  it 
was  I  who  had  done  all,  or  nearly  all,  the  work  of 
growing  it.  For  Bonal  helped  me  all  that  he  could, 
though  at  his  age  a  man  cannot  take  up  much  heavy 
work.  He  drove  the  cart,  helped  me  to  make  hay 
and  bind  the  sheaves;  he  pruned  the  vines  and  did 
other  things  like  that.  At  Fanlac  he  had  always  loved 
to  cultivate  the  garden,  and  he  put  in  order  the  garden 

226 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  227 

of  La  Granval,  which  was  in  bad  condition,  as  is  the 
usual  case  in  our  part  of  the  country,  where  we  are 
so  pressed  for  time  that  we  do  the  most  essential  work 
first. 

So  we  lived  on  peacefully,  scarcely  seeing  anyone. 
Our  nearest  neighbors  were  quite  far  away  and 
separated  from  us  by  woods,  so  that  their  chickens 
never  bothered  us,  nor  ours  them, — an  excellent  way 
of  living  in  peace ;  for  it  is  well  known  that  in  villages 
three-quarters  of  the  quarrels  start  over  the  chickens 
which  have  gone  to  scratch  in  other  people's  gardens. 
Moreover,  we  did  not  mind  being  isolated.  When 
you  are  occupied  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  you  do  not 
feel  the  need  of  seeing  strangers.  Besides,  Jean,  the 
charcoal-burner,  who  had  grown  too  old  to  spend  his 
nights  watching  the  furnaces  in  the  woods,  had  retired 
to  his  house  in  Maurezies,  having  laid  by  a  little  money ; 
and  he  sometimes  came  to  see  us.  He  was  a  good, 
obliging  man,  as  he  had  shown  himself  to  be  in  my 
father's  case,  and  since  that  time  he  had  taken  an 
interest  in  me.  He  gave  me  advice  on  the  management 
of  the  property,  which  I  was  very  glad  to  get;  for 
although  I  knew  quite  well  fiow  to  do  all  the  necessary 
work  of  a  farm,  I  had  not  enough  experience  to 
direct  it  wisely  on  every  occasion,  and  for  this  reason 
the  good  man  was  a  great  help  to  me.  The  cure 
liked  him  at  once,  and  used  to  talk  to  him  in  patois, 
because  Jean,  who  was  quite  untaught,  could  not  even 
speak  French — as  was  the  case  with  most  of  the  people 
in  our  district.    But  since  he  had  lived  so  much  alone 


228  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

in  the  middle  of  the  woods,  he  had  grown  accustomed 
to  think  rather  than  to  talk;  so  that  the  few  words 
he  let  fall  were  full  of  wisdom.  The  cure  was  not 
a  great  talker  either,  but  everything  he  said  was  full 
of  substance;  so  they  understood  each  other  well. 
Jean,  however,  was  most  respectful  to  him,  as  can 
easily  be  understood;  and,  like  us,  called  him  always 
"Monsieur  le  cure." 

But  in  regard  to  this,  the  cure  told  us  one  day 
that  we  must  correct  our  way  of  speaking.  Since  he 
was  no  longer  cure,  either  in  right  or  in  fact,  we 
ought  not  to  call  him  so. 

"Good,  holy  Virgin!"  cried  Fantille.  "For  twenty 
years  I  have  called  you  that;  I  shall  never  be  able  to 
speak  to  you  in  any  other  way." 

"You  will  grow  accustomed  to  it.  Call  me,  all  of 
you,  by  my  name,  Bonal." 

"That  I  could  never  do,"  answered  Fantille.  "No, 
M.  le.  .  .  .  Listen,  since  you  do  not  wish  us  to  call 
you  that  any  longer,  I  shall  call  you  'our  Monsieur.'  " 

"That  is  all  right,"  he  said,  smiling  a  little.  "And 
you  two,"  he  added,  turning  towards  Jean  and  me, 
"if  you  will,  please  call  me  Bonal." 

So  from  then  on,  according  to  his  wish,  we  called 
him  this.  Sometimes  my  tongue  tripped  from  force 
of  habit,  but  I  caught  myself  quickly,  knowing  that 
it  would  renew  his  pain  to  hear  Himself  called 
"Monsieur  le  cure." 

You  may  be  sure  that  during  all  these  changes,  I 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  229 

had  not  forgotten  Lina.  The  second  Sunday  after 
our  arrival  at  La  Granval,  I  went  to  mass  at  Bars. 
The  cure  was  reading  the  gospel  as  I  arrived,  and  I 
stayed  in  the  back  of  the  church,  looking  about  every- 
where for  my  sweetheart.  By  searching  carefully,  I 
finally  caught  sight  of  her  to  the  right  of  the  preacher's 
pulpit,  but  she  was  not  alone.  Her  mother  was  with 
her.  I  confess  that  as  long  as  the  mass  lasted  I  scarcely 
followed  the  ceremonies  of  the  cure,  I  was  so  much 
occupied  in  watching  the  round  neck  of  my  Lina, 
slightly  tanned,  as  a  girl's  neck  becomes  when  she 
works  in  the  fields,  and  the  little  curls,  with  their 
bronze  glints,  that  slipped  out  from  under  her  Sunday 
head-dress.  When  the  congregation  was  going  out, 
I  took  my  place  before  the  door  and  waited.  People 
were  moving  about  over  the  square  in  little  groups, 
and  after  the  first  greeting  and  salutations,  were  be- 
ginning to  talk  together,  the  men  about  the  weather, 
the  appearance  of  the  crops,  the  price  of  cattle  at  the 
last  market-day  in  Thenon;  the  women  about  their 
washing  or  the  success  of  their  capon  stew;  and  the 
girls  about  their  sweethearts. 

All  at  once  Lina  come  out,  and  gave  a  start  on 
seeing  me.  But  her  mother  did  not  recognize  me,  as 
was  not  surprising;  for  she  had  not  seen  me  since 
I  watched  the  geese  with  her  daughter.  They  stopped 
to  talk  like  the  others,  her  mother  with  another  woman, 
Lina  with  Bertrille,  who,  at  a  certain  moment,  turned 
to  look  at  me,  making  me  realize  that  they  were  talk- 
ing about  me.     A  moment  later,  Bertrille  wandered 


230  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

carelessly  in  my  direction,  and  passing  close  to  where 
I  was  walking  about,  staring  at  the  weathercock  in 
the  belfry,  said  to  me  in  a  low  voice: 

''After  vespers,  her  mother  will  not  be  there." 

''Good!" 

And  I  went  off  to  watch  them  play  ninepins,  turning 
my  eyes  from  time  to  time  towards  Lina. 

Towards  three  o'clock,  when  vespers  were  over,  the 
two  girls  stayed  for  quite  a  while  talking,  to  let  the 
people  behind  them  get  ahead;  then  they  slipped  off 
quietly,  and  I,  making  a  detour  through  another  road, 
overtook  them. 

How  we  laughed,  clasped  hands  and  chatted,  as  if 
we  should  never  stop!  Then,  since  they  were  eager 
to  find  out  how  I  came  to  be  there,  I  had  to  tell  them 
everything  that  had  happened  to  the  cure  Bonal  and 
explain  that  we  had  come  to  live  on  his  property  at 
La  Granval.  They  could  not  get  over  their  astonish- 
ment at  hearing  that  a  cure  could  cease  to  be  a  cure 
and  take  off  his  cassock.  As  for  making  them  under- 
stand that  it  was  all  because  he  had  sworn  allegiance 
at  the  time  of  the  Revolution,  and  what  this  oath  was, 
that  was  no  easy  matter.  So  I  told  them  briefly  that 
certain  other  cures,  called  Jesuits,  who  were  great 
enemies  of  the  old  patriotic  cures,  had  ruined  him. 

"Jesuits!''    They  had  never  heard  of  them. 

"And  what  are  these  Jesuits?"  they  asked. 

"According  to  what  M.  le  Chevalier  de  Galibert  says, 
they  are  like  foxes  among  the  other  cures." 

They  began  to  laugh,  and  I  to  talk  of  pleasanter 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  2S1 

things.  I  made  Lina  understand  that  since  we  were 
neighbors,  with  only  an  hour  and  a  half  of  roadway 
between  us,  we  could  see  each  other  more  often,  and 
how  happy  I  was  at  the  thought.  This  deHghted  her 
too,  but  she  feared  that  her  mother  might  notice  our 
friendship,  and  forbid  her  to  speak  to  me. 

*'We  will  try  not  to  let  her  suspect  anything,"  I 
said,  "and  perhaps,  after  all,  she  might  not  be  angry 
anyway,  for  she  must  know  it  is  impossible  to  keep 
a  boy  and  a  girl  who  are  in  love  from  seeing  one 
another.  But  if  she  should  happen  to  disapprove,  there 
will  still  be  time  to  decide  what  to  do;  so  don't  be 
afraid!" 

And  we  walked  along  slowly,  all  three  of  us,  talk- 
ing, on  the  stony  road,  bordered  with  ragged  hedges 
that  were  mixed  with  bushes  and  brambles,  I  in  the 
center  with  my  arms  in  theirs,  and,  to  tell  the  truth, 
pressing  Lina's  a  little  the  more  warmly.  When  the 
road  went  through  some  clump  of  oaks,  I  put  my  arm 
about  the  waist  of  my  sweetheart,  and,  pressing  her 
gently  to  me,  I  kissed  her  cheek,  browned  by  the  sun, 
and  velvety  as  a  lovely  peach  from  the  orchard.  The 
moments  flew,  and  we  were  at  Puypautier  before  we 
knew  it ;  but  Bertrille,  ever  cautious,  gave  us  warning, 
and  we  had  to  leave  each  other  after  many  farewells, 
kisses  and  loving  glances.  In  order  not  to  be  seen, 
I  turned  to  the  left  across  the  underbrush,  and  went 
by  way  of  La  Grimaudie  so  as  to  get  back  to  La 
Granval. 

This  programme  went  on  for  some  time  without 


232  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

any  interruption.  Whenever  I  was  able,  I  went  to 
Bars  on  Sunday,  and  walked  home  with  the  girls. 
Poor  Bertrille  was  herself  without  a  companion,  for 
her  own  sweetheart  was  with  his  regiment.  But  she 
possessed  her  soul  in  patience,  as  the  women  of  Peri- 
gord  do  when  the  troops  are  in  the  field.  As  she 
never  left  us,  no  one  could  say  there  was  anything 
wrong  about  our  meetings.  But  there  are  evil  tongues 
everywhere,  even  at  Bars.  Someone  noticed  our  little 
intrigue,  and  told  Lina's  mother;  so  that  one  Sunday, 
when  mass  was  over,  I  became  aware  that  she  was 
staring  hard  at  me.  She  was  not  angry  with  her 
daughter,  however;  she  only  asked  her  who  I  was, 
where  I  lived,  and  what  I  did. 

When  Lina  had  frankly  told  her  everything,  her 
mother  said  she  did  not  mind  if  I  spoke  to  her, 
provided  it  was  always  in  an  honorable  way.  And 
she  added,  that  they  needed  a  workman  in  their  house, 
big  and  strong  like  myself,  who  could  cultivate  their 
property,  now  that  Geral  was  growing  old. 

When  mass  was  over,  I  noticed  that  the  good  woman 
was  looking  at  me  with  a  hospitable  air,  which  caught 
my  attention  because  she  was  not  usually  amiable.  So, 
in  my  stupidity,  I  began  to  think  that,  although  we 
were  not  old  enough  to  be  married,  *she  did  not  mind 
my  talking  to  her  daughter  while  we  waited.  And 
one  Sunday,  I  was  certain  of  it,  when,  passing  pur- 
posely by  me,  with  Lina  and  Bertrille,  she  said 
too   me: 

"Since  you  walk  home  with  them  on  other  Sundays, 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  233 

you  can  certainly  come  to-day;  you  are  not  afraid  of 
me,  are  you?" 

"Why  no,  Mathive!    Then,  with  your  permission, 
we  will  walk  along  together." 

On  our  way  home,  while  the  two  girls  walked  ahead, 
Lina's  mother  spoke  to  me  of  her  affairs,  and  told 
me  how  hard  it  was  for  her  to  manage  their  property, 
since  Geral  no  longer  left  the  chimney-corner.  She 
hired  day-laborers,  but  it  was  not  the  same  thing;  she 
needed  a  strong  young  fellow  like  myself.  And  all 
this  while  she  kept  looking  at  me  as  if  to  say  that 
I  would  do  very  well.  Since  I  did  not  reply  to  this, 
she  asked  me,  in  reference  to  something  else,  if  I 
should  not  like  to  come  and  live  with  them,  letting 
me  understand  that,  since  we  loved  each  other,  Lina 
and  I  could  be  married  some  day.  But  while  she  said 
this,  she  looked  at  me  in  a  way  that  I  thought  rather 
bold,  as  if  she  had  spoken  in  her  own  behalf. 

At  last,  a  little  weary  of  her  grimaces,  I  said  to  her; 

"Listen,  Mathive !  I  love  Lina  more  than  I  can  say. 
And  for  that  reason  I  should  be  very  glad  to  come 
to  your  house,  to  work  for  you  with  all  my  strength, 
and  cultivate  your  land;  but  just  now  I  am  needed  at 
La  Granval,  and  that  being  so,  I  should  be  a  cur  to 
abandon  the  cure  Bonal,  who  rescued  me  from  beg- 
gary, just  at  this  time  when  he  wants  me." 

"You  are  right,"  she  said.  And  we  spoke  of  other 
things. 

For  a  long  time  matters  went  on  like  this.  Nearly 
every  Sunday  I  went  to  Bars,  and  often  met  Lina  and 


234  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

her  mother.  It  did  not  please  me  to  have  Mathive 
always  there,  but  I  was  patient,  infinitely  preferring 
to  see  my  sweetheart  before  her  mother  than  not  to 
see  her  at  all.  The  latter,  moreover,  continued  well- 
disposed  towards  me,  letting  a  word  drop  now  and 
then  to  show  me  she  was  glad  to  see  me.  She  always 
put  her  daughter  to  the  front — in  words;  but  from 
her  looks  and  her  over-friendly  airs,  I  finally  came  to 
understand  that  this  woman,  late  in  life,  had  been 
seized  with  a  passion  for  young  men.  In  order  not 
to  quarrel  with  her,  I  acted  like  a  simpleton  who  did 
not  understand,  and  I  pretended  not  to  notice  when 
she  would  press  up  against  me  in  walking,  as  if  the 
road  were  too  narrow.  Because  of  all  this,  instead 
of  accompanying  them  home,  I  often  went  back  to 
La  Granval  on  some  pretext,  after  I  had  had  a  word 
with  Lina,  while  her  mother  was  buying  a  cake  to 
make  a  sweet  dish  for  old  Geral. 

In  our  house  everything  was  going  well.  I  worked 
like  anything,  rising  at  daybreak  and  going  to  bed 
the  last  of  all.  Fantille,  who  was  still  strong,  raised  the 
chickens,  fed  the  pigs,  and  did  all  the  work  of  the 
home  that  was  proper  for  a  woman.  Our  former  cure 
Bonal  did  all  he  could  himself  to  help  me,  caring  for 
the  oxen,  watching  the  sheep,  learning  the  farmwork, 
and  never  sparing  himself  trouble. 

As  for  the  sheep,  it  vexed  me  to  see  him  drive  the 
fifteen  or  twenty  that  we  owned,  and  take  the  position 
of  a  mere  shepherd;  and  one  day  I  said  so  to  him: 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  235 

"But  why  not?"  he  asked,  almost  gayly,  "it  is  my 
trade!" — referring,  I  think,  to  his  former  office  of 
cure.  He  had  determined  to  learn  farming,  and  he 
had  succeeded  very  quickly.  Sometimes,  when  he  had 
made  some  passable  furrows,  I  would  say,  to  divert 
him,  but  with  no  lack  of  the  respect  I  owed  him: 

"That's  well  done !  One  might  think  you  had  never 
done  anything  else!" 

"Jacquou,  my  boy,  you  are  a  flatterer!"  And  he 
added:  "When  we  have  done  all  we  are  able  to  do, 
we  have  done  our  duty." 

But  when  I  saw  him  caught  in  some  difficult  job, 
I  would  say  to  him: 

"Do  leave  that;  it  is  too  hard  for  you  who  are 
unused  to  it." 

But  he  answered  that  he  was  still  robust,  that  work 
did  him  good  and  gave  him  some  peace  of  soul. 

"You  see,  Jacquou,"  he  said,  "man  is  born  for  work; 
it  is  a  law  of  nature;  and  since  that  is  so,  there  is  no 
work  more  healthy  and  good  for  the  soul  than  work 
on  the  soil.  The  more  one  comes  in  contact  with  it, 
the  more  has  one  to  be  grateful  for,  from  the  point 
of  view  of  both  bodily  and  spiritual  health." 

And  he  went  on  to  say  beautiful  things  to  me  on 
this  subject,  showing  me  that  one  of  the  conditions 
of  happiness  was  to  live  as  a  free  man  on  your  own 
land,  from  the  fruit  of  your  own  labor. 

"As  the  Chevalier  says,  'freedom  and  bread  are  the 
first  of  blessings.'  To  eat  the  bread  kneaded  by  your 
own  housewife  and  made  from  wheat  which  you  have 


236  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

sown  yourself;  to  taste  the  fruit  of  the  tree  which 
you  have  grafted;  to  drink  the  wine  from  the  vine 
you  have  planted;  to  live  in  the  midst  of  nature,  which 
calls  you  unceasingly  to  calm  and  the  moderation  of 
your  desires,  far  from  the  cities  where  what  passes  for 
happiness  is  merely  artificial, — the  wise  man  asks  noth- 
ing more.  ..." 

And  sometimes,  when  he  had  spoken  thus,  he  would 
stay  for  a  long  time  dreaming,  as  if  he  were  regretting 
something. 

On  Sunday,  as  I  have  said,  Bonal  did  not  go  to 
church ;  he  wished  to  avoid  the  disturbance  his  presence 
might  have  caused.  He  would  walk  along  one  of  the 
ancient  avenues  of  chestnut  trees,  which  began  at  the 
court  of  the  house  and  ended  at  the  extremity  of  the 
clearing  of  La  Granval,  where  it  was  closed  by  a  great 
horse-chestnut,  planted  in  the  middle.  He  would  sit 
down  in  the  shadow  of  this  tree  on  a  bench  he  had 
made,  and  meditate.  His  spirit  had  grown  serene  once 
more,  and  he  could  think  of  the  wrongs  he  had  suffered, 
with  none  of  those  first  unhappy  pangs,  but  with  that 
tranquil  philosophy  which  accepts,  without  censure, 
the  accidents  of  human  life.  But  though  he  was  re- 
signed when  he  thought  of  himself  alone,  whenever 
he  thought  of  his  old  friends,  the  Chevalier  and  his 
sister,  and  of  his  parishioners  who  loved  him,  of  the 
poor,  whose  providence  and  consolation  he  had  been, 
sorrow  gripped  his  heart  and  he  was  obliged  to  make 
a  great  efiFort  to  overcome  it. 

He  would  have  loved  dearly  to  see  all  his  friends 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  2S7 

back  there,  but  he  did  not  return;  for  the  excellent 
reason  that  they  would  never  have  let  him  come  away 
again.  So  he  was  very  happy  when  the  Chevalier  came 
to  lunch  at  La  Granval  and  brought  the  news  of  his 
former  parish.  Although  he  had  never  been  much  of 
a  talker,  he  was  then  full  of  endless  questions,  about 
this  one  or  that  one, — what  had  become  of  this  man; 
was  that  old  woman  still  alive;  was  the  daughter  of 
that  other  one  married  ?  And  when  his  solicitude  had 
been  satisfied,  they  would  both  speak  of  former  days 
and  exchange  old  memories.  When  the  Chevalier  had 
remounted  his  mare,  laden  with  kind  messages  for 
everyone  and  with  some  tobacco  for  La  Ramee,  the 
poor  ex-cure  seemed  easier  in  his  mind. 

Nearly  every  Sunday,  Jean  came  to  spend  the  day 
at  La  Granval  and  keep  Bonal  company.  That  di- 
verted him  a  little,  for  since  Jean  was  an  old  man, 
he  recalled  the  things  of  his  youth,  and  sometimes, 
at  a  word,  there  would  waken  in  him  the  memory  of 
long  forgotten  events.  On  these  days  Jean  stayed  to 
supper,  and  at  table  in  the  evening  Bonal  would  talk 
to  us  of  one  thing  and  another,  and  would  entertain 
us  with  curious  tales  and  observations  that  we  should 
never  have  thought  of  making  by  ourselves. 

For  instance,  he  told  us  the  meaning  of  the  names 
of  the  surrounding  villages,  and  of  men's  names. 

"Thus,  Fossemagne,"  he  told  us  one  day,  "means 
Great  Ditch;  Fromental,  the  country  of  cheese;  and 
your  name,  Jacquou  of  Ferral,  seems  to  indicate  a 
metal-worker  at  one  of  those  hand-forges,  formerly 


238  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

common  in  our  part  of  the  country.  As  for  the  sur- 
name of  Croquant,  which  you  have  carried  from  father 
to  son,  you  know  what  that  comes  from." 

"And  that  name  of  Maurezies,  Jean's  village,"  I 
asked  him,  "what  does  that  mean?" 

"There  are  some  who  derive  it  from  the  Moors  or 
Saracens  who  once  made  raids  into  our  country;  but 
I  would  rather  admit  that  I  do  not  know.  On  the 
other  hand,  I  can  tell  you  that  this  village  may  well 
be  the  place  where  Saint  Avit  lost  his  companion 
Benedictus,  as  is  told  in  the  chronicle  of  the  diocese." 

Bonal  also  showed  us  the  resemblance  between  cer- 
tain words  in  our  patois  and  the  Breton  tongue;  he 
told  us  of  our  ancestors  the  Gauls,  of  their  religion 
and  customs.  He  related  the  uprisings  of  the  Cro- 
quants  of  Perigord  under  Henry  IV  and  Louis  XUI, 
and  also  all  the  old  tales  of  the  Barade  forest,  which 
he  knew  intimately. 

So  the  moments  of  leisure  at  La  Granval  passed 
profitably,  while  Bonal  began  to  grow  accustomed  to 
his  new  life. 

At  first  he  was  very  sad,  and  scarcely  spoke;  but 
little  by  little  his  grief  grew  less,  and  if  we  started 
him  very  gently  on  a  subject,  he  would  let  himself 
go,  and  entertain  us,  principally  with  things  of  the 
past.  And  then  he  was  so  good  that  he  would  have 
done  just  the  same  to  oblige  us,  even  if  he  himself 
had  felt  no  desire.  When  I  saw  how  everything  was 
going  on  fairly  well,  I  worked  without  anxiety,  con- 
tent to  be  near  Lina,  without  remembering  that  I 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  239 

had  also  come  closer  to  the  Comte  de  Nansac,  or 
rather,  without  being  disturbed  at  this  proximity. 

Sometimes,  I  heard  far  off  in  the  forest  the  hunter's 
horn  urging  on  his  dogs,  and  then  the  memory  of 
all  my  misfortunes  would  rush  back,  and  my  hatred 
reawaken,  always  hot,  always  violent,  in  spite  of  all 
the  exhortations  which  the  former  cure  had  once  given 
me.  It  was  the  only  thing  in  which  I  had  not  gained 
control  over  myself,  so  strongly  did  I  feel  that  I 
should  be  a  bad  son,  if  I  forgave  the  Nansacs.  Be- 
sides, I  was  not  afraid  of  anything,  for  I  felt  like  a 
full-crested  young  cock,  strong  enough  to  defend 
myself. 

It  w^as  not  long  before  I  made  proof  of  my  strength. 
One  winter  evening,  I  was  coming  back  from  cutting 
heather  to  make  bedding  for  our  cattle.  The  day  was 
drawing  to  its  close,  and  in  the  woods  that  bordered 
on  the  road  I  was  following  the  darkness  was  descend- 
ing slowly.  I  was  walking  noiselessly,  my  pickax 
over  my  shoulder,  thinking  of  my  Lina,  when  all  at 
once  I  heard  behind  me  the  hurried  steps  of  a  horse. 

The  idea  came  into  my  mind  immediately  that  it 
was  the  Comte  de  Nansac,  but  I  continued  to  walk 
without  turning.  I  was  not  mistaken.  When  he  had 
come  within  a  few  yards  of  me,  he  called  out  in- 
solently : 

"Hola !  rascal !  Get  out  of  my  way !" 

The  blood  rushed  to  my  head  as  If  I  had  been 
struck  by  a  whip,  but  I  pretended  not  to  have  heard; 
only  when  I  felt  on  my  neck  the  breath  from  the 


240  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

horse's  nostrils  I  whirled  about,  and,  catching  the 
bridle  with  my  left  hand,  I  raised  my  pickax  with 
the  other: 

"Do  you  want  to  crush  the  son  after  making  the 
father  perish  in  the  galleys?  Tell  me,  you  wicked 
Crozat!" 

Never  in  my  life  have  I  seen  a  man  so  astonished. 
Usually  the  peasants  hastened  to  get  out  of  his  way, 
whenever  he  passed,  for  fear  of  being  knocked  down, 
or  at  least  of  getting  a  blow  from  his  whip.  So  he 
was  thoroughly  astounded.  But  what  put  him  most 
out  of  countenance  was  that  name  of  Crozat,  that  had 
been  so  carefully  concealed — the  name  of  his  grand- 
father, the  corrupt  tax-collector — which  the  son  of  the 
peasant  flung  in  his  teeth,  giving  him  back  insolently 
his  own  familiar  "thee"  and  "thou." 

He  thrust  his  whip  into  his  boot,  and  pulled  out 
his  hunting-knife.  The  horse,  a  nervous  animal,  tossed 
its  head  and  pawed  the  earth. 

"Let  go  my  horse's  bridle,  you  miserable  black- 
guard!" 

I  trembled  with  anger: 

"Not  before  I  have  spat  in  your  face  once  more, 
villain,  the  name  of  your  grandfather,  Crozat,  the 
thief!" 

And,  letting  go  the  plunging  horse's  bridle,  I  leaped 
backwards  into  the  hedge,  still  holding  my  upraised 
pickax. 

He  stayed  there  a  moment,  pale  and  cold  with  anger, 
his  eyes  venomous^  grinding  his  teeth,  and  trying  to 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  241 

ride  me  down.  But  although  he  spurred  the  horse 
brutally  up  to  me,  it  recoiled  in  fear  at  the  sight  of 
the  uplifted  pickax.  Then,  seeing  that  he  could  not 
approach  me  from  the  front,  and  that  the  dense  thicket 
protected  me  from  behind,  the  Count  sheathed  his 
hunting-knife  and  went  off,  calling  out: 

"You  will  pay  dearly  for  this,  vermin  i" 

*1  laugh  at  you,  Crozat!" 

Again  this  name  which  inflamed  him!  He  spurred 
his  horse  and  disappeared. 

When  I  told  them  at  home  about  this  event,  Bonal 
was  very  much  disturbed,  foreseeing  that  this  man, 
who  was  so  proud  and  unscrupulous,  would  try  to 
avenge  himself  ruthlessly  on  the  poor  peasant  who 
had  humiliated  him. 

"You  must  be  on  your  guard,"  he  told  me,  "and 
not  venture  into*  the  neighborhood  of  I'Herm;  and 
above  all  you  must  not  go  over  his  land  or  through 
his  woods." 

The  first  time  the  Chevalier  came  to  see  us,  after 
this  affair,  Bonal  told  him  the  whole  story. 

When  he  had  heard  it,  he  said  by  way  of  comment : 

"That  does  not  surprise  me;  'Great  lords  and  great 
highways  are  very  bad  neighbors.*  I  know  that  this 
Nansac  is  a  great  lord  of  contraband,  but  those  are 
not  the  best  lords.  One  would  say,"  he  added,  "that 
it  was  inherited  from  the  chateau.  The  lords  of 
I'Herm  have  always  been  more  or  less  tyrannical; 
witness  him  of  the  Wax  Hand." 

"Ah,  yes !  That's  a  true  legend  of  the  north  tower/* 


242  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

said  Bonal,  "but  even  if  it  should  be  only  a  tale,  I 
believe  what  I  have  already  said  to  Jacquou,  that  he 
must  be  on  his  guard  against  that  evil  fellow." 

"That's  my  opinion  too,"  said  the  Chevalier,  "I  am 
not  alarmed,  however.  He  is  big  enough  to  defend 
himself.  Undoubtedly,  the  Count  has  some  advan- 
tages over  him,  such  as  being  better  armed,  but  'Brave 
man,  short  sword !'  " 

In  accordance  with  this  advice,  and  also  with  my 
own  idea  of  what  was  best,  I  took  certain  precautions 
from  that  time  forth.  Whenever  I  went  in  those  re- 
gions where  I  ran  the  risk  of  meeting  the  Comte  de 
Nansac,  I  carried  a  good  cudgel,  or  else  an  old  flint- 
lock musket  which  had  belonged  to  BonaFs  grand- 
father, but  which  he  himself  had  never  used,  since 
never  in  his  life,  he  said,  had  he  killed  any  living 
creature.  In  addition,  whether  I  was  near  or  far  from 
the  house  I  always  had  in  my  pocket  my  father's  knife, 
the  blade  of  which  measured  about  six  thumb-lengths, 
and  with  which  I  had  made  Mascret  give  way  when 
I  was  still  only  a  child.  Having  taken  these  precau- 
tions, I  went  for  six  or  eight  months  without  seeing 
the  Count,  except  once,  at  a  distance.  At  one  time 
or  another  I  did  indeed  see  Mascret  or  the  other  guard, 
who  had  the  air  of  spying  on  me  from  afar;  but  I 
did  not  trouble  myself  about  them,  for  I  had  some- 
thing else  in  my  mind  which  distracted  my  attention 
from  them. 

When  you  are  in  love,  all  your  thoughts  turn  to- 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  S43 

wards  your  sweetheart,  and  your  steps  follow  your 
thoughts;  so  I  lost  no  opportunity  of  seeing  Lina. 
Her  mother  was  still  trying  to  wheedle  me,  and  to 
achieve  this,  she  rigged  herself  out  the  best  she  could 
— and  was  all  the  uglier  for  it.  I  used  to  laugh  at 
this  by  myself,  thinking  of  the  Chevalier's  saying: 
"A  golden  bridle  for  the  old  mule." 

Sometimes  on  Sunday,  still  pursuing  her  idea,  she 
would  invite  me  to  come  in  with  them,  when  we  had 
returned  from  mass,  and  even  at  times  to  have  supper 
with  them.  I  understood  her  tricks,  but  did  not  refuse, 
for  I  wished  to  be  as  long  as  possible  with  Lina.  After 
dinner,  the  old  woman  would  take  me  walking  about 
the  property,  on  the  pretext  of  seeing  how  the  crops 
were  coming*  on.  While  we  were  walking  about,  and 
Lina  was  busy  with  the  housework,  she  always  found 
some  means  of  letting  me  know  that  she  liked  me 
and  that  she  wished  I  were  living  with  them.  She 
would  point  out  to  me  an  uncultivated  field  or  a  vine 
they  had  not  had  time  to  dress  a  second  time,  for 
lack  of  a  man  in  the 'house. 

"It's  a  pity,'*  she  would  say,  "that  things  are  so 
that  you  cannot  leave  La  Granval.  You  see,  we  have 
a  large  property  that  would  bring  in  double  the  income 
if  we  had  a  strong  young  man  like  you  in  the  house. 
And  then,  in  working  for  us,  you  would  be  working 
for  yourself,  since  Lina  likes  you,  and  we  have  only 
her  in  the  family." 

She  showed  me  not  only  the  farm,  but  the  stables, — 
the  loft  full  of  wheat,  the  cellar  where  there  were  a 


244  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

score  of  half-kegs  of  wine,  part  of  it  old,  for  Geral 
always  had  had  the  custom  of  putting  aside  a  portion 
of  each  vintage  to  let  it  mature.  She  also  showed 
me  the  linen  closets,  full  of  linen,  and  the  cabinets, 
full  of  things.  One  day  she  even  opened  a  little 
drawer  in  the  big  dresser,  the  key  of  which  she  always 
carried,  and  pointed  out  a  small  leather  sack  full  of 
louis,  as  if  that  would  decide  me  to  come. 

"All  that  would  belong  to  you  later,  my  friend !" 

When  the  devil  gets  hold  of  women  of  that  age, 
he  makes  them  lose  their  senses,  for  Mathive,  who 
was  forty-seven  or  forty-eight  years  old,  and  far  from 
beautiful,  with  broken  teeth,  a  sharp  nose,  and  red- 
dened eyes,  imagined  that  by  showing  me  she  was 
rich  she  could  render  me  blind  and  rascally  at  the 
same  time. 

When  I  found  myself  alone  with  Lina,  I  told  her 
everything  her  mother  was  doing  to  get  me  to  come 
to  them,  but  naturally  I  did  not  explain  to  her  the 
reason  for  so  much  kindness.  And  then  the  poor  girl 
said  to  me: 

"Look,  Jacquou,  I  love  you  dearly,  and  you  can 
imagine  how  happy  I'd  be  to  have  you  live  with  us 
until  we  can  be  married;  but  if  you  did  such  a  thing 
as  that,  if  you  abandoned  a  man  like  the  cure  Bonal 
who  rescued  you  from  black  poverty  and  taught  you 
everything  you  know,  I  should  never  speak  to  you 
again/' 

"Don't  worry,  Lina.  I  would  cut  off  one  of  my 
fingers  rather  than  do  such  a  shameful  thing." 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  245 

And  yet  how  happy  I  should  have  been  to  live  be- 
side her  and  work  for  her !  Mathive  sometimes  asked 
me — always  with  the  same  purpose — to  help  them  with 
the  harvests  or  to  dig  about  the  vines,  or  to  help  with 
some  other  urgent  piece  of  work.  And  I  often  went, 
with  the  permission  of  the  cure;  for  I  was  always 
glad  to  help  them,  and  especially  joyful  to  be  near 
Lina.  Then,  when  I  had  come  to  help  them  with 
work  in  the  winter,  I  would  peel  the  chestnuts  with 
them  during  the  evening,  and  I  used  to  go  away  late, 
for  Lina  would  never  set  the  brands  upright  in  the 
fireplace,  as  the  girls  do  when  they  wish  to  dismiss 
their  lovers. 

One  day  as  I  arrived  early  to  help  them  gather 
grapes,  Lina  was  getting  ready  to  make  bread.  I 
watched  her  while  I  ate  a  shoot  of  garlic  and  a  grape 
before  going  into  the  vineyard.  First,  she  arranged 
her  headkerchief  so  as  to  cover  all  her  hair;  then  she 
turned  back  her  sleeves  to  the  shoulder,  and  soaped 
her  arms  and  hands  thoroughly  in  warm  water,  and 
rinsed  them  with  cold  water  which  I  poured  over  them 
with  the  funnel  of  the  drinking-horn.  Then,  when 
she  had  carefully  cleaned  her  nails,  she  prepared  the 
yeast,  poured  out  the  flour  and  the  warm  water,  and 
began  to  knead.  It  was  a  joy  to  watch  her.  First, 
she  worked  the  flour  with  her  hand,  mixing  it  care- 
fully with  the  water;  then  when  the  mixture  had 
thickened,  she  took  it,  raised  almost  whole  armfuls  of 
it,  and  flung  it  back  heavily  into  the  trough.  Her 
beautiful  round  arms,  a  little  tanned  above  the  wrists. 


24«  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

a  pretty  rosy  white  a  little  higher  up,  plunged  vigor- 
ously into  the  sticky  dough,  which  clung  to  her  skin 
and  which  she  scraped  off  with  a  finger.  "Ah!"  I 
thought,  as  I  watched  her  like  this,  "what  a  pleasure 
to  put  a  knife  into  the  floury  loaf,  and  to  eat  your 
housewife's  tasty  bread, — this  bread  which  she  has 
made  with  her  own  hands  and  which  she  has  perfumed 
with  the  sweet  aroma  of  her  flesh!  What  happiness 
to  gather  about  the  family  table,  children  and  all  to- 
gether, and  eat  this  bread  of  good  white  flour,  in 
which  she  has  put  some  of  her  affection!"  And, 
dreaming  in  this  fashion,  I  already  saw  Lina  and 
myself  dining  with  a  troop  of  little  children. 

But  life  does  not  follow  men's  dreams.  That  would 
be  too  happy,  or  perhaps  at  times  too  unfortunate. 
Mathive  had  talked  to  me  for  a  long  time  about  her 
plans,  and  made  me  glow  with  hopes  that  delighted  my 
heart,  although  I  saw  clearly  that  she  was  not  frank 
in  speaking  to  me  about  Lina;  so  ready  are  we  to  let 
ourselves  be  duped  in  such  a  matter!  But  it  was  not 
long  before  she  changed  her  tune.  One  Sunday — it 
was  Candlemas — as  I  was  in  the  square  before  the 
church  at  Bars,  waiting  as  usual  for  mass  to  be  over, 
the  old  woman  approached  me,  and,  drawing  me  to 
one  side,  told  me,  without  any  more  trifling,  that  since 
I  had  refused  several  times  to  do  as  she  asked,  she 
had  hired  a  laborer;  I  must  therefore  understand  that 
the  plans  she  had  proposed  could  no  longer  be  con- 
sidered. She  was  very  sorry,  as  she  had  always  pre- 
ferred me. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  ^47 

"At  present,'*  she  concluded,  "it  is  no  longer  suit- 
able for  you  to  talk  to  Lina." 

When  I  heard  that,  I  stood  there  dumbfounded,  star- 
ing at  her  fixedly,  as  if  I  had  not  understood.  I  quickly 
recovered  myself,  however,  and  said  that  even  if  I 
was  no  longer  permitted  to  speak  to  her  daughter,  no 
one  on  earth  could  prevent  me  from  loving  her  as 
long  as  I  lived. 

"I  can  do  nothing  about  that,"  she  said,  "but  I  do 
not  wish  you  to  come  to  the  house  any  more,  or  to 
see  her  outside." 

Having  thus  pronounced  her  judgment,  Mathive 
went  off  to  rejoin  her  daughter,  who  watched  me  sadly 
from  a  distance;  and  I  went  away  quite  confounded. 

The  workman  whom  she  had  hired  was  a  young 
fellow  from  La  Seguinie,  who  had  worked  for  them 
as  a  day  laborer,  and  who  had  pleased  her.  He  was 
a  strong,  coarse  fellow,  with  broad  shoulders  and  a 
thickset  body,  and  he  wished  to  play  the  dandy.  In 
addition,  he  was  a  brute,  incapable  of  fine  feelings, 
who  saw  nothing  outside  of  what  was  under  his  nose. 
As  soon  as  he  noticed  that  Mathive  looked  favorably 
upon  him — and  he  saw  this  at  once — ^he  began  to  put 
on  the  airs  of  the  master  of  the  house.  He  was  soon 
prinked  out  like  the  village  dandy,  with  good  shirts 
of  fine  linen,  a  silk  cravat,  a  gray  hat,  and  a  handsome 
blouse  and  shoes.  He  had  not  been  a  month  at  Puy- 
pautier  before  he  was  acquainted  with  Mathive's  sack 
of  golden  louis,  and  had  begun  to  make  them  dance. 

All  the  neighbors  soon  knew  how  matters  stood; 


248  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

acting  on  the  advice  of  the  old  woman,  however,  he 
pretended  to  be  courting  Lina,  to  conceal  his  own 
game,  but  he  was  too  stupid  to  hide  the  truth. 

My  poor  sweetheart  was  very  much  distressed,  as 
I  was  too;  especially  as  she  understood  all  that  was 
going  on,  although  she  said  nothing.  But  what  could 
she  do?  Geral  was  always  in  the  land  of  fireside 
dreams,  scarcely  able  to  move,  and  hardly  clear  in  his 
mind.  He  was  not  the  one  to  set  things  to  rights. 
Although  Lina's  mother  had  forbidden  her  as  she 
had  me,  it  will  surprise  no  one  to  hear  that  we  found 
means  to  see  each  other  at  times.  Then  she  would 
tell  me  all  her  troubles  and  I  would  try  to  console  her 
and  get  her  to  have  patience,  telling  her  that  every- 
thing would  right  itself  in  time.  But,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  that  was  not  what  happened.  The  longer 
the  affair  went  on,  the  more  that  blackguard  took 
control  of  things  in  the  house,  because  of  Mathive's 
folly.  If  at  times  she  did  not  agree  with  some  idea 
of  his,  he  would  speak  at  once  of  going  away,  and 
the  old  simpleton  of  a  woman  would  give  in  and  let 
him  do  as  he  liked.  In  short,  it  was  he  who  "cut  the 
stuffing,'*  as  they  say  of  those  who  become  masters. 

Although  this  boy,  called  Guilhem,  was  stupid,  as 
I  have  already  said,  he  understood  before  long  that 
the  old  woman  could  give  him  many  things, — golden 
louls,  filched  one  by  one,  with  which  he  could  get 
drunk  on  Sunday  at  Bars,  on  Tuesday  at  Thenon,  and 
then  go  on  a  spree  through  the  chief  parishes  over 
there.    But  as  for  the  property,  it  all  belonged  to  Geral 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  249 

and  would  descend  to  Lina,  for  the  old  man  had  ac- 
knowledged her  when  he  married  Mathive.  And  it 
was  the  property  that  he  desired  above  everything, 
because  he  told  himself  that  when  Geral  died — an  event 
which  indeed  happened  soon  afterwards — Lina  would 
be  mistress  of  everything,  and  then  good-bye  to  the 
sprees !  He  would  have  to  leave.  So  he  pretended  to 
be  devoted  to  her,  especially  before  other  people,  and 
then  told  the  old  woman,  who  was  stung  with  jealousy, 
although  she  had  advised  him  to  play  this  game,  which 
was  a  deceit  to  keep  the  world  from  gossiping. 
Mathive  was  furious  at  having  to  endure  this,  and 
vented  her  anger  on  her  daughter,  scolding  her  inces- 
santly, and  at  times  striking  her. 

After  a  while,  still  seeking  to  accomplish  his  pur- 
pose, Guilhem  told  Mathive  that  the  only  way  to  stop 
people's  tongues  was  to  marry  him  to  Lina.  But  the 
old  woman  would  not  go  to  that  length,  and  protested 
loudly.  By  a  great  effort  she  could  bring  herself  to 
endure  her  blackguard's  pretending  to  court  her  daugh- 
ter; but  let  them  marry!    That  was  another  matter! 

It  was  in  vain  for  him  to  assure  her  that  every- 
thing would  remain  after  the  marriage  as  it  had  been 
before,  and  that  what  he  proposed  was  in  her  own  in- 
terest, so  that  no  one  could  speak  ill  of  her.  It  was 
all  useless.  The  evil  old  woman  suspected  that  when 
he  was  once  married  to  Lina  he  would  get  rid  of  her ; 
and  she  refused  up  and  down.  Then  he  was  angry, 
and  repulsed  her  roughly,  and  the  more  she  did  for 
him,  and  the  more  she  pampered  him  in  order  to  ap- 


250  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

pease  him,  the  more  severely  he  rebuffed  her.  Poof 
Lina  felt  the  consequences  of  all  this,  for  her  mother 
had  grown  to  hate  her  so  much  that  she  even  began 
to  beat  her.  I  learned  what  was  going  on,  partly  from 
Lina,  partly  from  Bertrille,  and  was  so  dreadfully  dis- 
tressed to  know  she  was  unhappy  and  worried  so  much 
that  at  times  I  did  not  sleep  all  night.  I  often  thought 
of  teaching  this  Guilhem  a  lesson,  and  my  hand  itched 
to  give  him  a  drubbing;  but  Lina  begged  me  to  do 
nothing,  and,  for  fear  of  making  her  even  more  un- 
happy, I  made  no  move. 

One  day,  however,  I  could  stand  it  no  longer.  I 
came  up  to  him  at  Thenon,  and  gave  him  to  under- 
stand that  he  could  do  as  he  chose  with  Mathive  and 
her  golden  louis — I  laughed  at  them ;  but  as  for  Lina, 
I  forbade  him  to  have  anything  to  do  with  her. 

"Listen  to  me,"  I  continued,  "if  you  are  unlucky 
enough  to  cause  her  any  trouble,  or  to  make  love  to 
her,  ril  have  your  hide !" 

He  was  at  least  as  strong  as  I,  but  he  was  a  coward ; 
and  he  swore  some  great  oaths  that  he  had  never  done 
anything,  either  good  or  bad,  for  which  I  could  re- 
proach him.  All  he  had  done  was  to  keep  her  mother 
from  plaguing  her. 

"You  can  ask  Lina  herself,  I  tell  you.  ..." 

"Well,  you  have  your  warning!"  I  said  to  him  as 
I  went  off,  disgusted  at  his  cowardice  and  hypocrisy. 

Meanwhile,  a  great  sorrow  had  come  to  us  at  La 
Granval,  One  morning,  as  he  was  going  out  of  the 
house  to  pick  up  chestnuts,  Bona!  fell  to  the  earth 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  251 

in  a  seizure.  I  carried  him  to  his  bed,  and  held  vinegar 
to  his  nostrils  while  Fantille  supported  his  head;  but 
he  died  at  the  end  of  a  few  minutes,  without  having 
regained  consciousness. 

As  old  Jean  had  happened  to  arrive  at  this  moment, 
I  begged  him,  after  our  first  outburst  of  grief,  to 
return  to  Maurezies  and  send  one  of  his  neighbors  to 
Fanlac  to  notify  the  Chevalier  de  Galibert.  I  went 
off  myself  to  make  the  declaration  to  the  Mayor,  and 
at  the  same  time  to  order  the  casket. 

When  I  came  back,  Jean  had  already  returned,  and 
we  three,  including  Fantille,  remained  to  watch  the 
dead.  Usually  the  dead  are  dressed  in  their  best 
clothes;  but  we  could  not  do  that,  for  Bonal  had  no 
other  clothes  than  those  which  he  wore.  At  times, 
Fantille  used  to  say  to  him: 

"You  would  do  well  to  have  some  other  clothes 
made  for  yourself.  When  you  get  wet,  you  will  not 
even  have  anything  to  change  into." 

And  he  would  answer: 

*'When  these  are  worn  out,  I'll  see  about  it  .  .  . 
Perhaps  I  shall  not  need  any  others,"  he  added  smiling 
faintly. 

So  he  lay  on  the  bed,  dressed  just  as  he  was  every 
day.  His  face  was  calm,  and,  had  it  not  been  for  its 
waxlike  pallor,  one  would  have  said  that  he  was  asleep. 
His  features  seemed  to  have  become  finer,  the  nostrils, 
formerly  a  little  too  pronounced,  had  grown  thinner; 
his  mouth  was  gently  closed,  and  the  trace  of  all  the 
sorrow  that  at  times  had  shadowed  his  face,  had  dis- 


252  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

appeared  since  he  had  entered  into  eternal  rest.  Fan- 
tille  had  kept  some  candle-ends  for  thunderstorms,  and 
had  lighted  one  of  them  near  the  bed  on  a  little  table 
covered  with  a  cloth,  where  there  was  also  a  sprig  of 
boxwood  saved  from  Palm  Sunday,  lying  in  a  plate 
full  of  holy  water.  But  except  for  Jean,  no  one  had 
come  to  sprinkle  the  dead,  for  we  were  isolated  in 
the  midst  of  the  forest.  Then,  it  must  be  admitted, 
people  felt  for  Bonal  what  cannot  be  called  fear  but 
a  sort  of  aversion,  as  for  an  unfrocked  cure; — even 
though  he  was  so  quite  against  his  will,  poor  man ! 

After  a  painful  afternoon,  night,  coming  early,  as 
it  does  in  autumn,  found  only  the  three  of  us  there. 
The  candle-light  flickered  on  the  death-bed  and  lighted 
us  up  where  we  sat  close  by,  leaving  in  the  vast  room 
obscure  corners  which  enveloped  us  in  shadow.  Fan- 
tille  told  her  beads,  and  we,  Jean  and  I,  reflected  sadly, 
listening  mechanically  to  the  grinding  sound — the  gre, 
gre,  gre — of  a  worm  which  was  boring  into  a  rafter 
over  our  heads.  Sometimes  we  exchanged  a  few  words 
in  a  low  voice  that  scarcely  broke  the  funereal  silence. 

About  seven  o'clock  at  night,  we  heard  a  horse's 
hoofs  in  the  court,  and  I  went  out  with  Jean;  it  was 
the  Chevalier.  While  Jean  took  the  mare  to  the  stable 
I  led  him  to  the  death  chamber  and  took  his  cloak. 

"Poor  friend!'  he  said,  approaching  the  bed. 

And,  leaning  over,  he  piously  kissed  the  cold  fore- 
head of  the  dead  man.  Rising  up,  he  asked  me  what 
had  happened,  and  when  I  had  told  him  about  this 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  253 

sad  occurrence,  he  sat  down  on  the  chair  which  Fan- 
tille  brought  forward,  and  we  remained  all  four  silent 
and  thoughtful. 

It  was  bad  weather;  outside  a  high  wind  was  rush- 
ing through  the  great  nut  trees,  with  the  noise  of  a 
river  in  flood  and  filtering  under  the  tiles,  where  it 
moaned  overhead  beneath  the  garret  door,  which  was 
poorly  fastened  and  banged  in  the  wind.  From  time 
to  time  a  gust  drove  the  rain  against  the  window-panes, 
and  rushed  noisily  into  the  great  chimney.  Then  we 
looked  at  each  other,  saying:  "What  weather!" 

So  the  long  night  passed.  I,  who  was  unaccustomed 
to  it,  and  could  not  remain  seated  for  long,  would 
get  up  and  go  out  into  the  court  to  move  my  legs ;  and 
while  the  wind  whipped  my  face,  would  watch  the 
passage  across  the  gray  sky  of  great  black  clouds 
which  fled  away  into  the  night. 

When  dawn  appeared  through  the  window-panes, 
dimming  the  flame  of  the  wax  candle  that  lighted  us, 
the  Chevalier  asked  me  if  I  had  made  all  the  neces- 
sary preparations  for  the  burial.  I  answered  that  ex- 
cept for  notifying  the  Mayor  and  ordering  the  cofiin, 
I  had  done  nothing,  as  I  had  wished  to  await  his 
advice.  Then  I  explained  to  him  that  Bonal  had  often 
told  us  he  wished  to  be  buried  at  the  end  of  the 
avenue  under  the  great  chestnut  tree  which  had  been 
planted  by  his  father  on  the  day  of  his  birth,  and 
that  it  would  be  very  fitting  to  follow  his  wishes, 
especially  since,  if  he  were  carried  to  the  cemetery, 


254  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

the  cure,  out  of  hate,  would  have  him  placed  in  that 
melancholy  corner,  full  of  thistles  and  briars,  which 
was  reserved  for  those  who  destroy  themselves. 

The  Chevalier  thought  a  moment,  and  then  said: 

"Let  it  be  done  according  to  the  wishes  of  our  poor 
dead  friend.  I  know  the  Mayor;  he  is  not  the  man 
to  disturb  himself  over  a  slight  infringement  of  the 
law,  of  which  he  may  even  be  ignorant.  Besides, 
should  there  be  any  difficulty  later,  I  will  try  to  ar- 
range it." 

When  I  heard  this,  I  went  out,  and,  taking  a  pickax 
and  spade,  I  went  off  down  the  avenue.  The  rain 
had  stopped;  the  morning  was  cool,  and  in  the  little 
valley  below  La  Granval,  there  floated  above  the  fields, 
full  of  pale  pools  of  water,  a  light  mist  rising  from 
the  spring.  Towards  the  east,  the  sky  was  turning 
red,  and  the  moist  morning  wind  sent  the  wet  leaves 
and  empty  chestnut  burrs  tumbling  heavily  to  the 
ground.  I  reached  the  foot  of  the  great  chestnut  tree, 
and  began  sadly  to  dig  the  grave,  thinking  that  this 
was  the  last  service  I  could  render  the  dead  man  to 
whom  I  owed  so  much. 

About  ten  o'clock,  when  I  had  finished,  I  came  back 
to  the  house  and,  just  as  I  was  opening  the  gate  of 
the  court,  I  saw  Mile.  Hermine  arriving,  riding  on 
her  donkey,  which  was  being  driven  by  Cariol.  As 
she  came  into  the  chamber  of  the  dead,  she  took  the 
branch  of  boxwood  and  sprinkled  holy  water  over 
the  body;  then  she  knelt  by  the  bedside  and  prayed 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  ^55 

for  a  long  time,  her  head  bent.  When  she  arose,  she 
wiped  her  eyes  and  said,  looking  at  the  dead  man: 

"Now  all  his  sorrows  are  over.'* 

About  noon,  Fantille,  who  had  put  a  chicken  in  the 
pot,  made  Mile.  Hermine  take  a  little  bouillon,  for 
she  would  have  nothing  else;  but  the  Chevalier  ate 
a  little  soup  and  drank  a  glass  of  wine. 

About  two  o'clock,  the  justice  of  the  peace  came 
with  his  recorder  to  affix  the  seals.  He  let  us  take 
some  sheets  from  the  linen  cupboard  to  enshroud  the 
dead,  and  then  closed  everything,  the  cabinets, 
drawers  and  cupboards.  When  he  had  finished,  he 
talked  for  a  moment  with  the  Chevalier,  while  he 
walked  about  the  house,  and  then  he  went  home. 

Since  the  carpenter  did  not  arrive,  I  went  out  to 
meet  him.  Before  long  I  saw  him  in  the  distance, 
walking  behind  his  pack-mule,  which  carried  the  coffin 
fastened  across  its  back,  while  he  himself  held  on 
lazily  to  the  crupper.  When  I  reached  the  house,  I 
put  the  casket  down  in  the  room,  and,  going  into  the 
alcove  where  the  bed  was,  with  the  Chevalier  on  the 
other  side,  we  slipped  a  sheet  under  the  body,  starting 
at  the  head.  After  that,  all  four  of  us,  including 
Cariol  and  Jean,  lifted  the  cure  from  the  bed,  and 
laid  him  in  the  coffin,  where  Mile.  Hermine  had  placed 
a  pillow.  Then,  when  we  had  said  our  last  farewells 
to  the  poor  ex-cure  Bonal,  the  shroud  was  folded 
back  over  him,  the  carpenter  adjusted  the  cover  and 
began  to  nail  it.     In  that  room  where  until  now  we 


^56  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

had  only  spoken  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  we  feared  to 
awaken  the  dead,  these  loud  blows  of  the  hammer  had 
a  brutal  sound  very  painful  to  hear. 

The  day,  however,  was  drawing  to  a  close.  Hav- 
ing put  the  casket  on  two  chairs,  we  passed  some 
twisted  towels  under  it,  and  went  out  of  the  house. 
There  was  not  a  single  stranger  present,  no  one  ex- 
cept two  old  beggar  women  of  the  neighborhood  to 
whom  Bonal  used  to  carry  from  time  to  time  a  loaf 
of  bread  or  a  piece  of  lard  for  their  soup. 

While  we  men,  carrying  the  coffin,  walked  down 
the  avenue  with  a  heavy,  measured  tread,  these  old 
women,  their  rosaries  in  their  hands,  followed  Mile. 
Hermine  and  Fantille,  who  carried  the  holy  water. 
A  cold  east  wind  ruffled  the  sheet  which  covered  the 
coffin,  and  stirred  our  hair.  Dead  leaves,  loosened 
from  the  chestnut  trees,  fell  on  the  white  cloth  like 
a  token  of  mourning  from  the  inanimate  world.  Noisy 
magpies  flew  overhead,  struggling  against  the  wind 
to  reach  their  night's  perch.  Far  off  you  could  hear 
the  horn  of  a  shepherd  calling  his  sheep,  or  the  bellow- 
ing of  an  ox  returning  from  the  watering-place.  The 
sun,  about  to  sink  below  the  horizon,  was  hidden  by 
black  bars  of  cloud;  and  a  sort  of  gray  vapor  was 
descending  on  the  earth  at  the  approach  of  evening. 
As  we  neared  the  end  of  the  avenue,  the  wind  brought 
us  the  far-off  sound  of  the  bells  of  Saint-Gey rac,  ring- 
ing the  Ave  Maria.  It  seemed  as  if  the  voice  of  the 
Church,  rising  above  the  miseries  of  this  world,  was 
blessing  the  poor  priest  who  had  been  a  victim  of  his 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  £57 

brethren's  hatred.  When  we  reached  the  side  of  the 
grave,  the  coffin  was  placed  on  the  edge  of  the  ex- 
cavation, and  we  waited. 

Then  M.  de  Gahbert  took  a  book  from  his  sister's 
hands,  and,  standing  by  the  grave,  repeated  the  De 
Profundis  and  the  prayers  for  the  dead,  and  we  dll, 
as  he  wished,  addressed  our  last  thought  to  the  good 
and  honest  man  Bonal  had  been.  When  the  prayers 
were  over,  we  lowered  the  coffin  into  the  grave,  and 
the  Chevalier,  having  said  a  last  farewell  to  the  dead 
man,  took  the  branch  of  boxwood,  sprinkled  the  few 
drops  of  holy  water  over  him,  and  then  flung  in  a 
handful  of  earth.  We  others  did  likewise,  and  while 
the  earth  fell  with  a  heavy  noise  on  the  casket.  Mile. 
Hermine  knelt  and  prayed  fervently. 

After  I  had  filled  in  the  grave  with  the  help  of 
Cariol,  we  all  went  back  to  the  house.  Then  the 
Chevalier  and  his  sister  returned  to  Fanlac,  preceded 
by  Cariol  carrying  a  lantern.  The  two  old  women 
received  the  customary  alms,  and  set  off  for  their 
cabins,  Jean  returned  home,  and  we  remained  alone, 
Fantille  and  I.  The  next  morning  I  went  to  cut  sod 
for  Bonal's  grave,  and,  while  Fantille  was  making  a 
cross  of  boxwood  to  place  over  it,  I  went  back  to 
my  work;  for  even  though  death  enters  a  house,  the 
survivors  must  still  take  up  the  daily  round  of  living. 

When  the  justice  of  the  peace  came  to  remove  the 
seals,  he  was  accompanied  by  a  certain  fellow,  half 
peasant,  half  gentleman,  who,  the  recorder  said,  was 


^8  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

a  third  cousin  of  Bonal.  This  man  looked  at  me  with 
disfavor,  and  his  wife  did  also,  for  they  had  heard 
that  their  cousin  had  left  me  all  his  property.  I  my- 
self knew  nothing  about  it,  and  had  not  even  thought 
of  it;  but  the  Chevalier,  who  knew  the  dead  man's 
intentions,  had  said  a  word  or  two  about  it  to  the 
justice  when  the  seals  were  placed,  and  it  is  difficult 
to  keep  such  things  entirely  secret.  When  the  linen 
cupboard  was  opened,  in  a  drawer  in  the  middle, 
the  key  of  which  was  found  between  two  sheets,  the 
justice  discovered  a  paper  that  turned  out  to  be  the 
will.    When  he  had  opened  it,  he  read: 

"  T  give  and  bequeath  to  Jacques  Ferral,  called  Jac- 
quou,  all  my  property,  both  real  and  personal,  without 
exception,  on  condition  that  he  shall  keep,  nourish  and 
support  in  his  home,  as  his  own  mother,  my  servant 
Fantille,  as  long  as  she  shall  live.*  " 
"  ^Bonal, 

"  'Former  cure  of  Fanlac' '' 

The  cousin  gave  a  spiteful  exclamation,  and  his  wife, 
who  had  already  approached  the  cupboard  to  see  if 
there  was  not  some  money  in  it,  flung  me  a  furious 
look,  as  if  she  were  going  to  scratch  my  face. 

''Unfortunately  for  Jacquou,"  added  the  justice, 
"the  will  is  not  valid,  for  it  is  not  dated." 

"You  see,  my  boy,"  he  added,  showing  me  the  paper. 
"We  will  go  on  looking,"  he  continued,  "perhaps  we 
shall  find  another." 

But,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  cousin  and  his  wife, 
they   found  nothing  more.     As  soon  as  the  search 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  259 

was  ended,  they  closed  all  the  cabinets  and  wardrobes, 
and  went  all  over  the  house  to  take  stock  of  their  in- 
heritance. They  climbed  up  to  the  loft  to  see  if  there 
were  much  wheat  there;  went  down  into  the  cellar 
where  there  was  only  one  cask  of  wine,  already  tapped ; 
went  out  to  the  barn  to  estimate  the  value  of  the  cattle 
and  everything  there;  rejoicing  at  the  good  windfall 
that  had  come  to  them,  for  Bonal  had  no  other 
relatives. 

"For  all  that,"  said  the  woman,  "I  thought  that 
in  the  house  of  a  former  cure  there  would  be  more 
linen  in  the  cupboards." 

"And,"  added  the  man,  "I  thought  there  would  be 
more  wine  in  the  cellar,  and  some  of  it  unopened." 
While  this  was  going  on,  I  said  to  Fantille: 
"My  poor  woman,  there  is  nothing  more  for  us  to 
do  here  except  pack  up  our  bundles." 

And  I  began  to  collect  my  things,  as  did  Fantille; 
for  I  did  not  wish  to  remain  an  hour  longer  with  these 
people,  whose  cupidity  revolted  me.  But  as  we  were 
about  to  leave,  the  woman  said  to  us: 

"And  what  are  you  carrying  off  in  your  bundles?" 
"Nothing  that  belongs  to  you,  good  woman!    Do 
not  fear!" 

When  we  had  left  the  house,  I  asked  Fantille: 
"Where  are  you  planning  to  go  now?" 
"Where  can  I  go  except  to  M.  le  Chevalier^s?  They 
will  keep  me  until  I  have  found  another  place,"  she 
added  sadly. 

Poor  Fantille!   She  was  nearing  sixty,  and  was  no 


260  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

longer  very  active,  and  now  she  had  to  hire  herself 
out  to  strangers,  just  as  she  was  reaching  the  age  when 
she  needed  a  Httle  rest. 

"I  will  go  with  you,*'  I  told  her,  "but  first  we  will 
go  to  Jean's  house,  and  I  will  leave  my  bundle  there." 

When  we  reached  Maurezies,  I  told  Jean  the  story 
of  the  will,  and  he  said: 

"Bonal  was  so  honest  himself  that  he  thought  it 
sufficient  to  make  his  wishes  known.  He  was  well 
informed  in  many  matters,  but  he  did  not  know  of 
that  law,  poor  soul!  What  can  you  expect?  He  had 
the  desire  to  do  good  to  you,  and  you  are  under  the 
same  obhgation  to  him  as  if  he  had  succeeded." 

''That's  what  I  feel,  Jean;  I  assure  you  that  I  will 
always  remember  him  with  the  same  gratitude  as  if  his 
will  had  been  carried  out." 

*T  don't  know  what  you  mean  to  do  now,"  Jean 
went  on,  "but  you  can  always  stay  here;  you'll  have 
bread,  and  you'll  not  sleep  out  of  doors." 

"Thanks,  Jean,"  I  said;  "I'll  be  very  glad  to  stay 
for  a  while;  but  first  I  must  accompany  Fantille  as 
far  as  Fanlac." 

And,  putting  down  my  little  bundle,  I  took  that  of 
the  old  woman,  who  was  sitting  on  the  bench,  her 
hands  crossed  on  her  knees,  her  head  bent.  She  got 
up  and  went  off  towards  Fanlac,  I  carrying  the  old 
gun  that  Bonal  had  given  me  slung  over  my  shoulder. 

As  we  walked,  I  thought  to  myself  that  perhaps  the 
Chevalier  and  his  sister  would  wish  to  keep  me,  out 
of  sheer  goodness;  for  their  property  was  not  large 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  261 

enough  to  require  another  workman  on  the  place  be- 
sides Cariol.  But  I  was  too  proud  to  be  willing  to 
be  dependent  on  them,  knowing  that  their  hearts  were 
larger  than  their  purses;  and  for  that  matter,  feeling 
myself  quite  capable  of  earning  my  own  living.  Be- 
sides, I  could  not  bring  myself  to  the  thought  of  going 
so  far  away  from  Lina,  for  I  wished  to  be  near  enough 
to  help  her,  in  case  her  mother  made  her  too  un- 
happy. 

So  when,  after  walking  a  long  time,  we  reached  La 
Blaugie,  I  said  to  Fantille: 

*'Now  you're  almost  there ;  I'm  going  to  turn  back, 
so  as  not  to  get  caught  by  the  dark." 

"So  you're  not  coming  to  Fanlac,  to  tell  M.  le  Cheva- 
lier what  has  happened?" 

"My  poor  Fantille,  you'll  tell  him  quite  well  your- 
self. I'll  not  go  to-day.  See,  the  sun  is  already  sink- 
ing. .  .  .  So,  good-bye!  I'll  come  again  in  a  few 
days." 

And  I  left  her  and  went  back  to  Maurezies. 

Compared  with  Jean's  dwelling,  which  had  only  one 
room  and  was  lighted  by  a  tiny  window,  the  house 
at  La  Granval  was  a  large,  fine  bourgeois  house.  The 
Qnly  floor  was  the  beaten  earth,  with  holes  in  some 
spots,  and  hummocks  in  others  where  mud  from  out- 
side had  been  brought  in  and  left  by  the  sabots.  In 
the  corner  was  a  poor  bed;  in  the  center  an  old  table 
and  a  bench ;  against  the  crumbling  wall  a  poor,  miser- 
able chest,  riddled  by  worms ;  under  the  table  a  kettle 
for  chestnuts  and  a  pot;  in  the  sinkstone  a  wooden 


«62  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

bucket;  and  that  was  all.  The  low,  broad  chimney 
smoked  in  all  the  winds,  for  the  planks  and  rafters  of 
the  loft  were  a  glistering  black;  it  seemed  to  me  that 
I  had  come  back  to  Combenegre. 

It  was  already  late  when  I  arrived.  By  the  fire- 
light I  saw  Jean  sitting  in  the  corner  of  the  hearth, 
stirring  the  coals  under  the  pot  which  hung  from  the 
hook. 

*T Ve  made  a  little  soup,"  he  said  to  me,  "it  must  be 
done.    Come  and  taste  it,  while  I  cut  the  bread." 

He  got  up,  opened  the  large  drawer  of  the  table, 
and  took  out  the  loaf.  Then  he  began  to  cut  the 
bread  into  the  soup-dish  of  brown  earthenware  that 
had  been  mended  in  several  places. 

"You  see,"  he  said  to  me,  pointing  to  the  loaf,  which 
was  hollowed  out  in  the  middle,  and  had  two  horns 
like  a  new  moon,  "Fve  bad  teeth  and  can  only  eat 
the  crumbs.    You  will  have  to  eat  the  crusts." 

I  was  very  hungry,  having  scarcely  eaten  for  two 
days,  so  distressed  had  I  been  at  the  death  of  my 
poor  Bonal.  But  when  we  are  young  it  is  vain  for 
us  to  be  unhappy;  our  stomachs  soon  reclaim  our  at- 
tention. So  I  gulped  down  two  big  plates  of  soup, 
but  there  was  no  way  of  making  the  piquette  which 
means  so  much  to  peasants.  Jean  had  no  good  wine, 
nor  even  poor,  sour  wine.  When  I  had  finished  my 
soup,  I  cut  a  big  piece  of  bread,  and  rubbed  some 
garlic  on  it,  using  the  salt  sparingly,  for  it  was  dear 
in  those  days.  Then  I  drank  a  small  cup  of  water, 
and  it  was  time  to  go  to  bed. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  263 

Jean's  bed  was  a  miserable  affair,  for  it  had  only 
a  mattress  stuffed  with  corn  husks  and  birch  leaves, 
to  save  pains  and  aches;  and  over  it  a  feather-quilt. 
But  it  was  very  large,  almost  square,  like  those  ancient 
beds  in  which  they  used  to  sleep  four  at  a  time;  and 
I  slept  there  like  a  dormouse  in  winter. 

The  next  day  I  went  prowling  about  Puypautier, 
in  the  hope  of  seeing  Lina, — watching  from  a  distance 
for  the  moment  when  she  would  take  her  animals  out 
to  the  field.  When  I  saw  her  come  out  of  the  court, 
driving  her  sheep  and  her  goat  before  her,  and  turning 
towards  the  broad  valley  below  the  village,  I  went 
to  hide  in  a  neighboring  wood,  along  which  there 
was  a  bank  covered  with  bushes,  wild  plums  and 
grapes,  where  she  came  for  shelter  from  the  wind. 
From  my  hiding-place  I  saw  her  turning  her  spindle, 
lifting  her  eyes  from  time  to  time  to  make  sure  that 
none  of  her  sheep  were  wandering.  Sometimes  she 
stopped  spinning,  and  dropped  the  hand  which  held 
the  distaff.  She  seemed  to  be  reflecting  sadly.  Her 
dog  was  seated  at  her  feet,  watching  the  flock;  and 
a  few  steps  from  her  her  goat  was  rearing  up  against 
a  great  pile  of  stones,  or  cheyrou,  covered  with  black- 
berry vines,  and  was  browsing  busily,  wagging  his 
brown  beard.  It  was  a  deserted  spot  of  poor,  barren 
land,  tufted  with  that  plant  called  dog's-skin,  with 
abandoned  grapevines,  a  few  shoots  of  a  fig-tree  com- 
ing out  of  the  earth  from  old  roots,  and  all  about, 
clumps  of  oak  trees,  with  their  dead,  tan-colored 
leaves.    Against  the  gray  of  the  fields,  where  a  fine 


264  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

dry  grass  grew  up  among  the  lavenders,  and  under 
this  somber  autumn  sky  over  which  the  clouds  hurried, 
driven  by  the  wind,  the  figure  of  my  dear  Lina  looked 
very  pretty  in  her  simple  clothes.  She  wore  a  short 
skirt  of  drugget  which  fell  in  big  stiff  folds,  a  bodice 
of  flowered  calico  which  showed  her  slim  waist  and 
young  bosom,  an  apron  of  red  cotton  cloth,  and  on 
her  head  a  blue  checked  kerchief  which  seemed  too 
small  to  hold  in  her  light  brown  hair,  for  it  slipped 
out,  teased  by  the  wind,  over  her  neck  and  forehead. 

I  stayed  there  a  moment  motionless,  watching  her ; 
then  I  caught  her  attention  by  low  whistles  which 
brought  her  dog  yapping  to  my  side.  Revealing  my- 
self, I  signaled  to  her  to  come  to  a  spot  where  no  one 
could  see  us ;  and  when  she  was  there  and  I  had  quieted 
the  dog,  I  gave  her  a  long  embrace,  pressing  her  to 
me  as  if  I  were  afraid  of  losing  her.  She  leaned  her 
head  sorrowfully  against  my  breast,  and  seemed  to  put 
herself  under  my  protection. 

Alas,  the  death  of  Bonal  had  not  put  me  in  any 
position  to  protect  her.  She  Hstened  to  the  tale  of 
all  that  had  happened,  and  sighed  heavily. 

'The  holy  Virgin  knows  that  I  love  you  as  much 
poor  as  rich !  I'm  sorry,  however,  that  it  should  have 
turned  out  like  this.  If  the  will  of  the  dead  cure  had 
been  good  for  anything,  it  might  have  helped  along 
our  marriage ;  the  chances  now  do  not  seem  very  good ; 
far  from  it !" 

Then  she  told  me  about  all  the  misery  her  mother 
caused  her,  and  about  what  was  even  harder  to  bear. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  265 

— the  advances  of  Guilhem,  who  took  her  side  against 
that  old  hag.  All  this  without  speaking  of  her  shame 
over  what  went  on  before  her  very  eyes,  for  these 
wretches  scarcely  took  the  trouble  to  hide  what  they 
did,  Mathive  even  less  than  her  blackguard ! 

^'Listen,"  I  told  her,  ''if  it  reaches  a  point  where 
you're  no  longer  able  to  endure  your  troubles,  and 
if  we  cannot  meet  each  other,  send  me  word  by  Ber- 
trille.  I'll  go  to  Bars  every  Sunday  for  this  purpose. 
In  one  way  or  another  we'll  try  to  make  things  better. 
Jean  is  a  man  of  good  judgment,  and  then  I'll  go 
to  find  M.  le  Chevalier  and  the  justice.  There  must 
be  laws  to  prevent  things  like  that.  So  take  courage, 
my  Linette!" 

And  we  were  silent  a  moment,  clinging  closely  to 
each  other,  so  that  I  felt  the  dear  little  heart  of  my 
darling  beating  in  her  breast  like  that  of  a  young  bird 
surprised  in  the  nest.  Finally,  after  we  had  repeated 
over  and  over,  twenty  times,  that  we  would  love  each 
other  until  death,  whatever  happened,  I  kissed  for  a 
last  time  her  beautiful  wet  eyes,  and  went  off  across 
the  woods  so  as  not  to  be  seen. 

Things  went  on  like  this  for  some  time;  Lina  al- 
ways harrassed  but  still  patient,  I  always  dreadfully 
disturbed  at  knowing  she  was  unhappy.  In  spite  of 
it,  I  tried  to  earn  my  living  so  as  not  to  be  a  burden 
on  poor  Jean;  but  it  was  hardly  the  moment  for 
finding  work.  Seeing  that  Jean  had  several  plots  of 
ground  around  Maurezies,  which  were  lying  fallow 


^m  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

because  he  was  too  old  to  cultivate  them,  I  took  charge 
of  them;  and  since  I  had  no  oxen  I  dug  the  fields 
by  hand,  and  sowed  them,  though  it  was  rather  hard 
work.  Then  winter  came,  with  bad  weather,  and  work 
out  of  doors  stopped  entirely.  Now  I  taxed  my  in- 
genuity to  find  ways  of  bringing  a  few  sous  into  the 
house.  Having  one  day  met  at  a  fair  in  Rouffignac 
a  man  who  had  undertaken  to  supply  black  alder  wood, 
the  charcoal  of  which  is  used  to  manufacture 
powder,  I  began  to  cut  some  for  his  business.  But  the 
skinflint  did  not  give  me  much  for  it,  and  I  had  to 
scratch  myself  in  the  thickets  and  cut  many  bundles 
of  fagots  to  earn  an  ecu  of  a  hundred  sous.  My  prin- 
cipal resource,  therefore,  was  hunting. 

In  snowy  weather,  in  the  late  evening,  my  lantern 
under  my  blouse  and  my  flat  stick  under  my  arm, 
I  would  go  out  to  hunt  birds  by  lantern  light,  as  my 
dead  father  used  to  do.  During  the  daytime  I  would 
kill  several  partridges,  decoying  them  with  a  bird  call, 
or  else  on  some  bright  moonlight  night  I  would  go 
to  watch  for  hares  at  likely  spots  in  the  forest.  Some- 
times, I  passed  entire  hours  without  seeing  anything, 
seated  on  the  edge  of  a  ditch  at  a  crossroads,  with 
gun  hidden,  and  shivering  in  Jean's  miserable  cloak, 
all  torn  and  full  of  holes.  At  times,  I  was  more  for- 
tunate. In  the  path  I  would  see  a  buck  hare,  with 
its  nose  to  the  ground,  seeking  for  the  trail  of  a 
doe  hare;  and  my  shot,  deadened  by  the  night  fogs, 
would  make  him  leap  into  the  air.  By  all  these  means, 
I  brought  back  to  the  house  from  time  to  time  a  few 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  267 

twenty  or  thirty-sou  pieces,  or  something  else  that 
we  needed.  There  were  plenty  of  wolves  in  the  forest, 
but  we  almost  never  saw  them  at  night,  for  they  went 
prowling  around  the  villages  to  catch  some  dog,  for- 
gotten and  left  out  of  doors,  or  to  force  open  the 
door  of  some  sheep  stable  that  was  insecurely  closed. 
It  would  have  been  a  good  piece  of  business,  however, 
to  kill  one  of  them,  on  account  of  the  reward. 

One  winter  morning  at  dawn,  I  was  coming  back 
from  the  hunt  with  a  hare  that  I  had  just  killed  still 
warm  in  my  haversack ;  I  was  trying  to  think  in  what 
way  I  could  win  the  fifteen  francs  offered  by  the 
Government,  when  I  noticed  the  tracks  of  a  big  wolf, 
the  forefeet  of  which  were  deeply  marked  in  the  wet 
earth.  **That  one,"  I  thought,  "was  well  loaded 
down!"  And  indeed  when  I  followed  the  trail  of  the 
beast,  I  could  see  in  places  the  marks  where  an  animal's 
feet  had  scraped  the  path.  Although  a  wolf  can  easily 
fling  a  sheep  over  its  shoulder  and  gallop  off  with  it 
in  its  jaws,  its  prey  sometimes  slips  and  drags  on  the 
ground.  During  the  day  I  came  back  to  look  for  the 
animal's  tracks,  and  discovered  where  it  had  entered 
a  great  thicket  of  brambles,  bushes,  and  gorse,  where 
the  devil  himself  could  not  have  penetrated.  When 
I  had  carefully  observed  the  wolf's  track  several  times, 
I  saw  that  he  had  certain  fixed  habits,  and  that  on 
leaving  the  crossroads  of  L'Homme  Mort  he  always 
came  back  to  his  den  by  the  same  path.  This  cross- 
roads had  an  evil  reputation  in  the  countryside  for 
being  haunted  by  the  devil,  and  everyone  had  his  own 


268  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

tale  to  tell  about  it.  It  had  got  its  name  because  long 
ago  a  man  had  been  found  dead  there,  who,  when  he 
was  carefully  examined  by  the  principal  surgeon  at 
Thenon,  bore  no  mark  of  any  wound.  From  this  cir- 
cumstance, people  had  concluded  that  he  had  come 
there  to  make  a  pact  with  the  devil,  and  that  he  had 
died  of  fear  on  seeing  him  appear,  all  black,  with 
horns  on  his  forehead — that  went  without  saying — 
cloven  feet  and  eyes  shining  like  coals.  Besides,  it 
was  just  the  sort  of  spot  about  which  such  tales  are 
apt  to  be  invented,  for  it  was  a  lonely  place  deep 
in  the  woods,  in  the  midst  of  dense  thickets,  traversed 
by  the  charcoal-burners'  paths,  paths  more  or  less 
frequented  according  to  the  season,  which  crossed  each 
other  just  in  this  hollow. 

Unlike  most  of  the  people  of  the  countryside,  I  was 
not  superstitious,  and  I  laughed  at  the  Devil  and  the 
Adversary.  I  have  even  picked  up  at  this  cross- 
roads a  double-Hard,  left  there  by  some  fever  patient; 
and  I  had  no  fear  of  catching  the  fever,  as  the  poor 
simpleton  who  carried  it  there  believed  would  happen. 
When,  as  I  started  out  hunting,  I  met  old  Guillemette 
of  Granges  begging  her  bread, — she  who  was  supposed 
to  have  the  evil  eye, — it  did  not  drive  me  back  to  the 
house,  as  it  did  others.  I  did  not  care,  either,  if  I 
saw  birds  of  ill-omen,  buzzards,  magpies,  or  crows; 
whether  they  were  on  my  right  or  my  left  made  no 
difference  to  me.  The  dead  Cure  Bonal  had  early 
freed  me  from  all  these  stupidities,  this  belief  in  were- 
wolves, in  the   winged  huntress,   in  hobgoblins,   in 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  269 

ghosts,  which  in  the  heart  of  our  countryside  is  handed 
down  from  grandmother  to  grandchildren  in  the  long 
evenings,  and  makes  the  young  hoys  and  girls  shiver, 
where  they  cower  in  the  chimney-corner. 

What  concerned  me  was  the  capture  of  the  wolf. 
To  accomplish  this,  I  made  a  hiding-place  at  the  edge 
of  the  thicket  quite  near  the  crossroads;  and  about 
midnight  I  went  out  to  await  the  beast's  return  to 
his  stronghold.  But  I  was  stupid  enough  to  come 
by  the  road  he  usually  followed,  so  that  when  he  got 
wind  of  me,  half  a  gunshot  away,  he  dashed  off  into 
the  underbrush,  and  I  did  not  see  him. 

"Dirty  beast,"  I  thought,  as  I  went  home  that  morn- 
ing. "You  have  taught  me  a  lesson.  I  shall  do  as 
you  do." 

So  a  few  days  later,  having  made  a  wide  detour, 
I  entered  the  underbrush  and  covertly  reached  my  hid- 
ing-place. I  remained  there  fully  four  hours,  motion- 
less, listening  to  far-off  noises.  There  would  be  the 
gunshot  of  some  poor  devil  like  myself  lying  in  wait ; 
the  gallop  of  a  herd  of  wild  boars  through  the  under- 
brush; the  howHng  of  a  she-wolf  calling  the  male; 
the  barking  of  the  guard's  dogs  when  they  scented  the 
wild  animals  in  the  wind ;  the  "clou,  clou"  of  a  screech- 
owl  perched  nearby,  the  almost  inaudible  sound — 
transmitted  by  the  earth — of  a  cart  jolting  heavily 
along  on  an  abandoned  road,  in  the  course  of  one  of 
those  nocturnal  jaunts  that  peasants  love ;  or  else  those 
inexplicable  noises  that  pass  in  the  night.  At  times, 
there  were  vague  sounds  about  me,  the  beating  of  the 


270  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

wings  of  a  bird  that  a  wildcat  had  surprised,  the 
passage  of  a  badger  through  the  underbrush,  or  the 
underground  burrowing  of  some  unknown  little 
creature. 

In  spite  of  all  my  patience,  I  was  beginning  to 
despair,  when  all  at  once  I  saw  coming  down  the 
path  a  great  animal  with  eyes  that  shone  like  candles. 
The  wolf  was  walking  slowly,  like  a  well-sated  animal 
which  had  spent  its  night  profitably.  As  he  came  near, 
I  saw  him  better.  He  was  an  old  wolf,  truly  superb 
in  his  rough,  thick  pelt,  his  robust  shoulders  and 
enormous  head,  with  his  raised  ears  and  pointed  nose. 
I  had  pointed  the  barrel  of  my  gun  directly  at  him, 
my  finger  on  the  trigger;  and  when  he  was  ten  paces 
away,  I  fired  straight  at  his  chest.  He  leaped  up, 
gave  a  hoarse  yelp  like  a  sob  stifled  in  blood,  and  fell 
stone  dead.  When  I  had  tied  his  four  feet  together, 
I  threw  my  prey  over  my  shoulder,  and  went  back 
to  the  house,  where  I  arrived  drenched  in  sweat,  al- 
though it  was  not  warm.  As  I  placed  the  animal  on 
the  ground,  Jean  cried  out: 

"That  was  a  pretty  shot!" 

As  I  was  impatient  to  bring  him  the  money  that 
very  morning,  and  since  a  neighbor  had  lent  me  his 
ass,  I  fastened  the  wolf  to  the  pack-saddle  and  set 
off  for  Perigueux.  I  went  over  the  same  road  that 
I  had  taken  long  before  with  my  mother,  but  as  I 
walked  faster  now,  I  reached  there  about  five  o'clock. 
But  as  I  had  to  wait  till  next  day  to  present  my  wolf, 
I  took  lodgings  in  a  little  inn  near  the  Pont-Vieux. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  271 

I  had  hardly  stopped,  when  all  the  people  in  the  neigh- 
borhood came  flocking  to  see  the  beast,  such  idlers  are 
the  city  people.  They  plied  me  with  questions,  asking 
where  and  how  I  had  killed  it,  and  discussing  among 
themselves  the  nature  and  habits  of  wolves.  There 
were  even  some  knaves  who  insisted  that  a  wolf's  ribs 
ran  lengthwise.  Those  who  were  foolish  enough  to 
believe  it  were  much  astonished  when  they  felt  this 
one  through  his  thick  pelt,  to  find  that  his  ribs  were 
like  those  of  any  other  animal.  Then  those  other 
clever  fellows  cried  out: 

*Tt  is  quite  true,  however;  I  have  always  heard  that 
a  wolf's  ribs  run  lengthwise.  Perhaps  this  is  only 
a  large  dog." 

It  made  me  shrug  my  shoulders  to  see  4:he  city  folk 
so  silly.  But  I  said  nothing  to  them.  What  was  the 
use? 

The  next  day,  followed  by  all  the  children  of  the 
rue  Neuve,  along  which  I  passed,  I  carried  my  wolf 
to  the  prefecture.  The  porter  let  me  into  the 
court  and  went  to  find  someone.  Several  men  came 
instead  of  one,  and  like  the  people  about  the  inn,  they 
asked  me  a  hundred  questions  about  the  spot  where 
I  had  killed  the  beast,  how  I  had  set  about  it,  and 
whether  I  had  not  been  afraid  to  go  out  and  lie  in 
wait  at  night  like  that,  and  other  questions  of  this 
sort.  The  wolf  was  stretched  out  on  the  ground  in 
the  midst  of  a  circle  of  employees,  young  and  old, 
who  had  left  their  desks,  some  of  them  with  pens 
still  behind  their  ears  or  with  their  coat-sleeves  turned 


S72  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

back ;  one,  who  must  have  been  the  chief,  was  wrapped 
up  like  an  onion  in  four  or  five  garments,  one  above 
the  other.  The  ass  waited  patiently,  its  ears  droop- 
ing; and  I  did  the  same,  although  I  was  impatient  to 
return.  Finally,  when  they  had  chattered  enough,  one 
of  the  gentlemen  took  me  away,  and  after  he  had  made 
me  wait  a  good  quarter  of  an  hour  and  had  taken  me 
about  to  other  bureaus,  he  gave  me  a  paper,  telling 
me  to  go  to  the  paymaster  to  receive  the  bounty  money. 
When  I  was  at  the  paymaster's  desk,  the  cashier 
said  to  me  in  patois: 

"You  cannot  sign  your  name,  can  you?*' 
"Indeed,  yes,"  I  told  him,  "I  can  sign  my  name." 
He  looked  at  me  in  astonishment,  passed  me  a  pen, 
and  when  I  had  signed  my  name,  he  gave  me  fifteen 
francs. 

At  the  door,  I  took  the  ass  again,  and  went  off  to 
M.  Fongrave's  house  to  take  him  a  hare  which  I  had 
in  my  haversack.  But  in  his  old  house  on  the  rue 
de  la  Sagesse,  they  told  me  he  had  not  lived  there 
for  a  long  time.  I  went  off,  still  leading  the  ass,  and 
by  dint  of  much  searching,  I  managed  to  discover  the 
dwelHng  of  my  dead  father's  lawyer.  As  he  was  not 
in,  I  gave  the  hare  to  the  servant,  begging  her  to  tell 
her  master  that  the  son  of  the  late  Martin  Ferral  had 
sent  it  to  him. 

When  that  was  done,  I  went  to  buy  a  silver  ring 
for  my  Lina,  which  cost  me  all  of  three  francs  and 
ten  sous.  Then  I  came  back  to  the  inn,  where  the  ass 
ate  some  cabbage-leaves,  and  I  had  some  soup  with 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  273 

a  good  drink  after  it.  After  that,  I  set  out  with  the 
beast  for  Maurezies,  where  I  arrived  fairly  late,  about 
eleven  o'clock  at  night. 

The  next  Sunday  I  gave  the  ring  I  had  brought  to 
Bertrille,  to  hand  it  to  Lina,  which  she  did  at  once; 
and  I  returned  home  happy;  as  if  this  ring  had  the 
power  to  settle  our  affairs  favorably.  So  small  a  thing 
does  it  take  to  change  our  desires  into  hopes. 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  days  passed,  however;  winter  was  drawing  to 
its  close;  and  there  began  to  blossom  in  the  woods 
those  Candlemas  violets  that  some  call  snowdrops. 
With  the  fine  weather  I  was  able  to  earn  a  few  sous, 
going  out  here  and  there  by  the  day  to  sow  the  oats 
or  barley,  dig  about  the  vines,  or  do  other  seasonable 
work.  As  I  heard  nothing  more  of  the  Comte  de 
N ansae,  I  relaxed  my  precautions  somewhat  as  I  went 
to  work  or  returned  from  it. 

I  did  not  count  on  his  having  forgotten  me,  and 
even  less  on  his  having  forgiven  me,  but  as  it  was 
a  long  time  since  our  encounter,  I  thought  that  if  he 
had  wished  to  strike  me  or  have  me  injured  by  an 
unexpected  blow,  he  could  easily  have  found  an  op- 
portunity. Therefore  I  concluded  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  avenge  himself  in  this  way.  When  we  spoke  of  it, 
however,  Jean  always  said: 

*'Be  on  your  guard  against  that  man;  he  is  capable 
of  anything.  Perhaps  he  is  pretending  to  have  for- 
gotten you;  in  that  case  it  is  in  order  to  entrap  you 
all  the  better.  If  you  have  never  been  shot  at,  going 
about  the  forest,  it  is  because  he  is  reserving  some- 
thing worse  for  you.  He  is  shrewd  and  cunning,  that 
cur,  and  the  proof  is  that  he  got  off  with  a  whole 
skin  those  times  when  he  carried  off  the  money  col- 

274 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  275 

lected  by  the  poll-tax  in  the  Barade  forest,  whereas 
the  others  lost  their  heads  because  of  it. 

I  had  heard  people  mention  these  occurrences  in  the 
Barade  forest,  and  others  of  the  same  sort,  to  the 
dead  Cure  Bonal  and  the  Chevalier.  Some  nobles  and 
rich  bourgeois  of  the  countryside  had  undertaken  to 
make  war  on  the  Republic,  after  the  manner  of  the 
Chouans,  and  had  found  no  better  way  than  to  cut 
off  its  supplies  by  stealing  the  sums  of  money  that 
were  sent  from  the  under-prefectures  to  Perigueux. 

Attacks  had  been  made  at  several  places  in  the 
department,  but  in  the  Barade  forest  there  had  been 
three. 

In  all  these  affairs  the  Comte  de  Nansac  had  been 
mixed  up,  and  had  even  been  the  leader  of  one  of  the 
bands  working  in  the  forest.  In  1799  a  band  of 
twenty-five  or  thirty  men,  well-armed  and  masked  with 
hare-skins,  attacked  the  convoy  of  revenue  from  Sar- 
lat,  which  was  escorted  by  three  gendarmes,  not  far 
from  the  guard's  barracks  at  Lac-Gendre,  and  carried 
off  about  15,000  francs. 

In  connection  with  this,  the  Chevalier  de  Galibert 
used  to  say  that  one  of  these  brigands  with  whom  he 
was  acquainted  had  tried  to  enlist  him ;  he  had  refused, 
saying  that  it  was  robbery  all  the  same  whether  you 
robbed  the  Government  or  a  private  person. 

Two  years  after  this  attack,  a  convoy  that  carried 
7,000  francs  was  robbed  under  the  same  circumstances. 
Without  mentioning  the  other  robberies  of  monies  col- 
lected from  Nontron  and  Bergerac,  one  can  see  that 


9196  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

these  men  did  a  good  business.  To  be  sure,  they 
risked  their  heads,  but  at  this  period  the  gendarmerie 
was  so  badly  organized  that  it  was  never  able  to  catch 
them. 

Under  the  Empire  it  was  a  different  story. 

The  most  famous  attack,  in  which  there  were  several 
wounded  and  one  killed,  took  place  in  1811,  at  a 
spot  called  since  then  "The  Three  Brothers,*'  because 
three  fine  chestnut  trees  had  grown  there  upon  one 
stump.  This  time  the  convoy  carried  some  forty-odd 
thousand  francs  locked  up  in  four  strong  boxes,  on 
two  pack-horses.  There  were  not  many  robbers,  only 
five  or  six;  so  that  if  their  stroke  had  succeeded  it 
would  have  been  lucky  for  them.  Unfortunately  for 
them  it  turned  out  badly,  for  after  they  had  captured 
the  convoy  and  tied  the  agent  in  charge  and  the  escort 
to  trees,  the  robbers  were  able  to  carry  off  only  one 
chest,  and  that  not  very  far.  For  the  alarm  was 
given  by  a  man  who  had  escaped,  and  the  national 
guards  of  Rouffignac  and  Saint-Cernin,  called  together 
by  the  tocsin,  set  out  in  pursuit  and  captured  four 
of  the  robbers  after  a  volley  of  shots  in  which  a  na- 
tional guard  was  killed  instantly  and  two  others  were 
seriously  wounded. 

One  of  the  brigands,  seeing  that  the  fight  was  going 
badly,  ran  away,  and  escaped  abroad,  whence  he  did 
not  return  until  after  the  downfall  of  Napoleon. 

As  for  the  four  robbers  who  were  captured,  they 
suffered  for  the  whole  band,  and  six  weeks  later  were 
guillotined  on  the  Place  de  la  Clautre  at  Perigueux. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  277 

"I'd  wager  burning  my  hand  off  that  the  Comte 
de  Nansac  was  a  member  of  that  band,"  said  Jean. 
"But,  clever  fellow  that  he  was,  when  from  his  hiding- 
place  he  saw  the  convoy  coming,  seven  or  eight  strong, 
he  realized  that  it  would  be  no  easy  matter  to  attack 
it,  and  he  withdrew  before  the  attack,  so  that  no  one 
was  able  to  say  he  had  seen  him  with  the  others.  In 
the  affair  of  1801  he  was  there  and  even  directed  it. 
From  a  thicket  where  I  was  lying,  I  recognized  him 
among  the  band  when,  after  the  robbery,  they  were 
going  along  a  path  to  Peyre-Male,  where  they  doubt- 
less divided  the  stolen  money." 

"And  yet,  Jean,"  I  said,  "people  complain  of  our 
times,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  there  are  no  bands  of 
armed  brigands  any  longer." 

"That  is  true.  The  cutting  off  of  those  four  heads 
somewhat  chilled  the  others.  But  if  they  no  longer 
rob  in  bands,  there  are  always  some  who  work  alone 
or  in  couples  on  the  highways  over  there.  And  there 
are  a  devil  of  a  lot  more  beggars  and  thieves;  I  don't 
know  if  it  is  much  of  an  improvement.  As  for  you," 
he  continued,  "I  repeat,  be  on  your  guard  against  the 
Count.  He  would  kill  anyone  without  turning  a  hair ; 
just  think  of  what  he  is  capable  of  doing  to  you!" 

At  times  when  I  thought  of  all  this,  I  felt  confirmed 
in  my  belief  that  the  Comte  de  Nansac  would  not 
stop  at  any  crime  if  he  could  commit  it  with  impunity. 
"Perhaps,"  I  thought,  "he  needs  some  confederate  to 
help  him,  and  is  waiting  for  his  son.  In  short,  I  must 
keep  my  eyes  open,  and  not  grow  careless  about  him." 


278  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

Besides,  the  Count's  ordinary  behavior  showed  the 
sort  of  man  he  was.    There  was  nobody  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  THerm  who  did  not  suifcr  from  him  and 
his  set.    For  amusement  this  wretch  would  ride  with 
his  men  through  the  fields  of  ripening  wheat,  go  into 
the  vineyards  with  his  dogs,  which  ate  the  ripe  grapes, 
and  have  his  hounds  kill  a  shepherd's  dog  or  a  sheep, 
when  he  had  come  back  empty-handed  from  the  hunt. 
You  had  to  step  aside  quickly  out  of  his  road,  and 
bow  very  low  to  him,  or  you  were  likely  to  get  a  good 
crack  with  the  whip.    If  he  met  a  peasant  in  his  woods, 
he  would  have  him  knocked  about  by  his  men.     One 
day  he  even  sent  a  shot  between  the  legs  of  a  man 
from  Prisse,  whom  he  suspected  of  poaching  on  his 
land.     The  head  huntsman  and  the  guards  all  took 
their  cue  from  him,  and  behaved  like  him,  as  did  his 
numerous    guests    at    THerm,    where    they    lived 
riotously.      Even   his    daughters    did    likewise,    and 
thought  nothing,  as  they  galloped  by,  of  horsewhipping 
a  poor  devil  who  was  too  slow  in  getting  out  of  the 
way.     The  eldest  had  never  come  back,  and  there 
remained  four  daughters,  big  Amazons,  bold  and  hand- 
some, who  always  had  the  young  nobles  of  the  country- 
side about  their  skirts,  dangling  after  them  and  amus- 
ing themselves  with  them.     By  day  there  would  be 
rides,  visits  to  the  neighboring  chateaus,  and  hunting 
parties  where  the  young  people  amused  themselves  in 
the  woods  to  suit  themselves.     In  the  evening,  when 
the  hounds  had  been  called  off,  there  would  be  splendid 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  279 

feasts  in  the  great  hall,  where  huge  logs  blazed  on 
the  grea^  iron  firedogs. 

On  rainy  days,  there  would  be  a  little  respite  for 
the  remoter  villages,  for  the  young  people  would  stay 
at  the  chateau,  dancing,  singing,  playing-hide-and-seek 
in  the  rooms  and  attics  where  there  were  little  recesses 
in  which  they  could  conceal  themselves  in  couples.  But 
at  times,  tired  of  these  amusements,  they  would  go  to 
the  house  of  one  of  their  farmers  or  of  one  of  their 
neighbors  in  the  village  who  dared  not  refuse,  and 
have  pancakes  made.  The  young  Nansac  ladies 
would  scream  with  laughter  if  some  of  the  young  men 
who  escorted  them  annoyed  the  peasant  girls.  And 
if  a  girl  defended  herself,  or  if  the  parents  grew  angry 
— for  they  sometimes  went  pretty  far — these  mis- 
chievous fools  would  say  that  it  was  all  a  great  honor 
for  the  girls.  In  short,  they  did  not  hesitate  to  copy 
the  Count  in  everything,  a:nd  like  him  to  be  insolent 
and  brutal  with  the  "paysantaille,"  as  they  called  them. 
This  grandson  of  a  water-carrier  so  heartily  despised 
the  poor  people  of  the  neighborhood  that  if  he  was 
caught  in  a  storm  while  out  hunting,  he  and  his  friends 
would  come  into  the  houses  leading  their  horses,  which 
they  would  fasten  to  the  foot  of  the  beds.  If  it  dis- 
pleased him  to  see  people  go  along  a  public  road  as 
they  had  always  done,  he  appropriated  it  offhand  by 
means  of  a  ditch  at  each  end.  He  had  seized  the 
ancient  commons  pasture-land  of  the  village  of 
I'Herm,  and  no  one  dared  to  protest,  because  where  he 


280  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

was  concerned  there  was  no  justice  obtainable.  In  this 
lonely  countryside,  therefore,  thanks  to  the  weakness 
and  complicity  of  those  in  authority  who  feared  his 
power  and  wickedness,  the  Count  renewed,  as  far 
as  he  could,  the  cruel  tyranny  of  the  old  lords  of  the 
ancien  regime.  So,  in  the  whole  countryside  there 
existed,  against  him  especially,  but  also  against  his 
entire  family,  a  sullen  hatred,  which  grew  steadily 
stronger  and  more  bitter, — a  hatred  that  was  restrained 
by  fear  of  these  wicked  men  and  by  the  impossibility 
of  obtaining  justice  by  legal  means.  The  villagers  of 
I'Herm  and  Prisse  were  the  most  hostile  to  the  Cotmt 
and  his  family,  since  they  were  most  exposed  to  his 
molestations  and  insolence. 

Some  will  perhaps  say:  "How  can  it  be  that  the 
Count  and  his  family,  who  were  so  pious,  were  also 
so  wicked?" 

Ah!  that's  just  it!  They  were  like  so  many  other 
coarse-grained  Catholics,  for  whom  religion  is  a  matter 
of  fashion,  habit  or  personal  interest,  and  who,  when 
they  have  fulfilled  the  external  practices  of  devotion, 
do  not  hesitate  to  give  free  expression  to  their  un- 
bridled passions,  and  to  abandon  themselves  to  all  their 
vices. 

The  Count  was  arrogant,  unjust,  wicked,  capable  of 
anything,  and  his  daughters  were  foolish,  insolent  and 
licentious.  Not  one  of  them  had  ever  done  any  good 
to  anyone  about  them,  but,  on  the  contrary,  a  great 
deal  of  harm.     For  all  that,  they  had  a  chaplain  in 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  281 

their  service,  and  never  went  without  mass,  and  took 
communion  at  all  the  special  festivals. 

Besides,  all  this  was  not  peculiar  to  them.  Since 
the  fall  of  the  Empire  and  the  return  of  him  whom 
they  called  **our  father  from  Ghent,"  rehgion  had  be- 
come a  party  question  for  the  nobility.  The  gentle- 
men, philosophers  before  the  Revolution,  now  affected 
religious  sentiments,  in  order  to  separate  themselves 
the  better  from  the  common  people  who  had  become 
Jacobins  or  lukewarm  beHevers,  as  formerly  they  had 
become  unbelievers  in  order  to  distinguish  themselves 
from  a  populace  that  was  still  stuck  fast  in  superstition. 
There  were  a  few  of  them  who  had,  however,  per- 
sisted in  their  irreligion,  like  the  old  Marquis,  who  on 
his  deathbed  had  firmly  refused  the  good  offices  of 
Dom  En j  albert.  But  these  were  rare.  On  the  other 
hand,  there  were,  among  the  nobles,  sincere  Catholics, 
like  the  deceased  Comtesse  de  Nansac.  But  these  also 
were  rare. 

To-day  we  see  the  rich  bourgeois  particularly,  and 
others  as  well,  following  the  nobles  and  imitating  them. 
But  they  are  less  zealous  than  formerly,  and  do  things 
less  successfully.  There  are  many  of  them  who  pre- 
tend to  be  good  Catholics,  whose  entire  religion  con- 
sists in  asking  affectedly  for  salt  codfish  on  Friday 
in  the  hotels  when  they  are  away  from  home,  and  who 
would  be  as  embarrassed  as  the  devil  if  they  were 
asked  to  point  out  the  cure  who  polished  up  their 
consciences. 


282  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

But  at  the  time  of  which  I  speak  I  did  not  think 
of  such  things.  All  these  tales  of  Jean's  did  disturb 
me  a  little  at  moments,  as  well  as  what  I  myself  knew 
of  the  Comte  de  Nansac.  But  what  could  I  do?  Be 
on  the  watch !  So  I  was.  But  it  is  little  use  to  be  on 
one's  guard  when  he  who  lies  in  wait  has  the  ad- 
vantage. Sometimes  at  night  I  would  meet  in  the 
forest  single  men  or  little  groups  of  two  or  three, 
hurrying  along,  with  their  caps  pulled  down  over  their 
eys,  and  a  big  stick  in  their  hands,  who  dived  into 
the  thickets  when  they  heard  anyone.  At  times  they 
carried  full  sacks,  at  others  they  held  their  bulging 
haversacks  under  their  blouses,  like  men  going  to  mar- 
ket. I  knew  these  fellows  well.  They  were  robbers 
who  lived  in  the  old  isolated  huts  on  the  edges  of  the 
forest  or  in  the  abandoned  cabins  of  charcoal-burners 
in  the  heart  of  the  woods.  One  could  greet  all  of 
them  after  the  fashion  of  Saint-Amand-de-Coly: 
"Good  evening,  honest  folk,  if  honest  you  are!"  From 
time  to  time  we  would  hear  of  some  theft  at  a  lonely 
house,  or  of  travelers  who  were  plundered  on  the 
highways  as  they  returned  from  fairs  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. I  was  not  astonished,  for  I  knew  that,  as  the 
saying  had  it,  the  Barade  was  never  without  wolves  or 
robbers.  But  since  1  had  been  at  Maurezies  with 
Jean,  I  had  been  careful  to  see  if  I  were  being  spied 
on.  One  night  as  I  went  out  to  hunt  hares,  I  saw 
far  off  in  the  moonlight  two  men  who  plunged  into 
a  thicket  when  they  heard  me  coming. 

"The  largest  is  the  Comte  de  Nansac,"  I  said  to 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  283 

myself,  **as  for  the  other,  if  his  son  has  come  back 
from  Paris,  it  must  be  he." 

And  this  encounter  made  me  even  more  suspicious. 
I  did  not  go  out  at  night  without  having  my  loaded 
gun  under  my  arm,  ready  to  shoot,  looking  to  right 
and  left  through  the  woods,  and  avoiding  the  paths 
that  were  too  thickly  wooded,  at  least  as  much  as  I 
could.  But  it  is  useless  to  be  on  one's  guard;  those 
who  can  choose  the  moment  have  the  advantage,  and 
when  one  has  to  do  with  scoimdrels,  some  unlucky 
chance  is  sure  to  happen. 

In  the  forest  above  La  Granval,  there  was  a  tuquef, 
otherwise  called  a  ridge,  where  three  paths  intersected. 
In  the  center  was  a  great,  ancient  oak  which  five  men 
with  arms  outstretched  could  scarcely  have  encircled, 
and  which  was  called  lou  Jarry  de  las  Fadas,  or  the 
"fairies'  oak."  This  tree  was  perhaps  thousands  of 
years  old ;  without  doubt,  one  which  our  ancestors,  the 
Gauls,  revered,  and  from  which  they  used  to  cut  the 
mistletoe  with  their  golden  pruning-bills.  According 
to  the  popular  belief,  this  place  was  haunted  by  spirits. 
Sometimes  Nehalenia,  the  lady  with  the  silver  slippers, 
would  come  down  in  a  flowing  white  robe,  accom- 
panied by  her  two  black  dogs,  and,  gliding  mysteriously 
over  the  shivering  leaves  of  the  tree-tops,  would  come 
to  rest  at  the  foot  of  the  giant  oak.  At  other  times 
by  starlight,  strange  monsters  of  some  sort  in  women's 
shapes,  with  great  wings  of  bats,  would  fly  there  from 
the  four  corners  of  the  horizon,  coming  to  perch  in 
its  immense  foliage,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  dark 


284  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

night  they  would  spy  upon  the  poachers  who  were 
crouched  at  its  foot.  Bad  luck  then  to  him  who  was 
hated  by  a  woman!  While  he  was  there,  almost  in- 
visible against  the  rough  trunk,  and  while  the  oak 
leaves  rustled  to  put  him  to  sleep,  these  evil  creatures, 
seizing  their  opportunity,  would  pounce  upon  him,  tear 
open  his  breast,  like  birds  of  prey,  devour  his  heart, 
and  then  let  him  go,  to  live  ever  after  a  factitious  life. 

As  I  have  already  said,  these  old  wives'  tales  did 
not  frighten  me,  and  I  often  went  to  this  spot  because 
it  was  good  for  all  sorts  of  game, — wolves,  wild 
boars,  foxes,  badgers,  hares,  all  climbed  up  there,  to 
go  the  devil  knows  where  farther  on.  And  then,  be- 
cause of  the  evil  reputation  of  the  spot,  no  one  ever 
came  there  to  hunt ;  so  the  place  was  always  free. 

One  night,  while  I  was  there,  sitting  on  a  root 
that  came  out  of  the  earth  like  the  back  of  some 
monstrous  serpent,  and  leaning  against  the  tree,  with 
the  firepan  of  my  gun  sheltered  under  my  jacket,  I 
began  to  dream.  There  was  a  damp  mist  which  the 
moon,  then  in  its  first  quarter,  could  not  quite  pierce 
through.  She  lighted  up  the  earth,  however,  through 
the  curtain  of  fog,  sufficiently  for  eyes  as  good  as 
mine  were  then.  Drops  of  dew  were  falling  from  the 
branches  about  me,  like  tears.  No  sound  came  from 
the  forest,  which  was  sunk  in  darkness,  save  from 
far  away,  in  the  direction  of  Roussie,  the  mournful 
howling  of  a  dog  that  seemed  to  be  foretelling  some 
death.  I  was  sad,  that  night,  thinking  of  my  dear 
Lina,  so  unhappy  in  her  home  through  the  fault  of 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  285 

her  hussy  of  a  mother  and  of  that  evil  Guilhem.  Since 
I  had  spoken  to  that  good-for-nothing  wretch,  he  had 
said  nothing  to  bother  her,  but  she  felt  the  conse- 
quences of  his  behavior  towards  Mathive,  and,  as  he 
usually  treated  the  old  woman  very  harshly,  the  poor 
child  was  not  very  happy.  1  had  seen  her  the  Sunday 
before,  and  she  had  wept  as  she  told  me  her  miseries 
and  the  troubles  she  had  to  endure.  This  memory 
put  mad  thoughts  into  my  head,  such  as  the  idea  of 
beating  that  wretch  to  death,  or  of  fleeing  far  away, 
both  of  us  together,  Lina  and  I ;  but  the  fear  of  mak- 
ing her  situation  worse  restrained  me. 

When  I  thought  of  the  future,  it  seemed  to  me 
full  of  cruel  uncertainties  and  a  disheartening  dark- 
ness; and  then  thinking  of  the  past  and  remembering 
the  fatality  that  seemed  to  pursue  our  poor  family, 
I  recalled  all  my  misfortunes,  the  death  of  my  father 
in  the  galleys,  and  that  of  my  poor  mother,  for  whom 
my  heart  still  bled.  And  going  even  further  into  the 
past,  I  thought  of  my  grandfather,  thrown  into  a 
dungeon  for  rebellion  against  the  Seigneur  de  Reignac 
and  for  burning  the  chateau,  and  set  free,  just  as  he 
was  expecting  death,  by  the  thunderbolt  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. And  still  recalling  the  past,  I  remembered  that 
ancestor  who  had  given  us  the  nickname  of  croquant, 
and  who  was  hanged  in  the  forest  of  Drouilhe  by  the 
nobles  of  black  Perigord,  who  relentlessly  persecuted 
the  poor  folk  that  had  revolted  against  them  from  ex- 
cess of  misery.  Then,  full  of  rancor,  mingling  in 
my  own  mind  the  misfortunes  of  my  time  with  those 


286  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

of  the  peasants  of  former  days,  from  the  Bagaudes 
up  to  the  Tard-advises,  of  which  last  the  Cure  Bonal 
had  told  us,  I  glimpsed,  down  the  ages,  the  sad  con- 
dition of  the  common  people  of  France,  always 
despised,  always  downtrodden,  tyrannized  over  and 
often  murdered  by  their  pitiless  masters.  Comparing 
my  lot  with  that  of  my  ancestors,  poor  bare-footed 
men,  miserable  clod-breakers,  driven  to  insurrection 
by  hunger  and  despair,  I  found  it  to  be  very  much 
the  same  as  theirs.  Was  it  possible  that  more  than 
thirty  years  after  the  Revolution  one  could  still  be 
subjected  to  such  odious  vexations  as  those  of  the 
Comte  de  Nansac,  who  was  reviving  the  crimes  of 
the  worst  of  the  rural  gentry  of  former  days?  Hatred 
for  this  pretended  nobleman  blazed  up  in  my  heart, 
and  I  told  myself  that  the  man  who  should  rid  the 
country  of  him  would  be  doing  a  good  deed.  The 
spirit  of  revolt  which  had  caused  the  death  of  the 
former  Ferral  the  Croquant,  which  had  brought  my 
grandfather  to  the  foot  of  the  gallows,  and  caused 
my  father  to  die  in  the  galleys, — this  spirit  which  had 
been  quieted  for  so  long  by  the  exhortations  of  the 
dead  cure  and  the  goodness  of  saintly  Mile.  Hermine, 
now  boiled  in  my  veins.  I  despised  the  counsels  of 
prudence  of  the  degenerate  poet  who  made  this  refrain, 
preserved  by  tradition  in  that  portion  of  Perigord 
which  adjoins  Quercy: 

Take  care,  proud  Petrocorieu! 
Consider  before  you  seize  your  arms! 
For  if  you  are  beaten, 
Csesar  will  cut  off  your  hands ! 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  287 

Ah,  if  I  had  not  had  Lina  behind  me,  how  gladly 
should  I  have  risked  not  only  my  hands  but  my  head 
also,  to  avenge  myself  on  the  Count! 

While  these  ideas  were  rushing  tumultuously 
through  my  head,  I  heard  on  my  right  the  faint, 
regular  yelping  of  a  fox,  following  a  hare.  I  loaded 
my  gun  and  waited.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  saw 
the  hare  coming  slowly  along.  When  it  reached  the 
crossroads,  it  stopped  four  paces  from  me  and  sat  up, 
its  ears  pointed,  listening  for  a  moment  to  the  fox 
that  was  chasing  it.  Seeing  that  it  had  time,  it  slipped 
down  a  path,  followed  it  for  fifty  paces,  then  bounded 
under  the  thicket,  came  back  to  the  crossroads,  took 
another  path,  and,  after  having  repeated  this 
maneuver  for  a  third  time  and  thoroughly  confused 
its  tracks,  it  ran  off  down  the  path  by  which  it  had 
come,  flung  itself  with  enormous  leaps  into  the  under- 
brush and  disappeared. 

I  had  enjoyed  watching  it.  "Go  on,  poor  animal," 
I  thought,  "save  yourself  this  time;  but  as  for  that 
impudent  beast  that  is  chasing  you, — let  him  beware !" 

Soon  I  saw  the  fox  arrive,  his  nose  to  the  ground, 
his  tail  dragging,  so  tightly  glued  to  the  hare's  trail 
that  he  forgot  his  usual  caution.  When  he  was  twenty 
paces  away,  I  made  him  leap  into  the  air,  and,  having 
put  him  in  my  haversack,  I  went  away. 

It  was  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning;  the  moon 
had  gone  down,  the  mist  had  thickened  so  that  it  was 
very  dark.  To  find  one's  way  in  this  damp  obscurity, 
one  would  have  had  to  know  the  passages  and  paths 
as  well  as  I  did.    I  walked  along,  my  gun  under  my 


288  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

arm,  glancing  to  right  and  left,  more  from  habit  than 
from  fear  of  any  immediate  danger,  for  you  could 
not  see  two  feet  ahead  of  you.  As  I  walked  on,  my 
mind  was  still  occupied  with  Lina,  and  I  was  a  prey 
to  melancholy  thoughts,  quite  naturally,  considering 
what  I  knew  about  her  home  life.  I  hurried,  for  it 
was  beginning  to  drizzle;  following  a  path  that  cut 
through  a  thicket  which  I  had  to  pass  to  return  to 
Maurezies; — when,  as  I  reached  the  middle,  I  caught 
my  feet  in  a  rope  stretched  across  the  path,  and,  as 
I  was  walking  quickly,  I  fell  flat  on  the  ground,  my 
gun  with  me.  I  had  barely  touched  the  ground  when 
some  men  flung  themselves  upon  me,  gagged  me  with 
a  handkerchief,  thrust  my  head  into  a  sack,  tied  first 
my  hands  behind  my  back  and  then  my  legs,  took 
away  my  knife,  fastened  me  across  a  horse — and  there 
I  was,  being  carried  off! 

I  had  no  doubt  as  to  the  meaning  of  this;  although 
I  had  not  heard  a  word,  I  was  certain  that  it  was  a 
stroke  from  the  Comte  de  Nansac,  and  I  wondered 
what  he  was  going  to  do  with  me.  Would  he  fling  me 
into  the  abyss  of  Le  Gour?  For  a  moment  I  believed 
so,  but  I  soon  saw  from  the  direction  we  were  taking 
that  I  was  wrong.  When  we  had  walked  about  an 
hour,  I  knew  from  the  hollow  steps  of  the  horse  that 
we  were  passing  over  a  bridge.  'It  is  the  bridge  that 
crosses  the  moat  of  the  chateau!"  I  said  to  myself. 
An  instant  later  the  horse  stopped,  and  I  was  carried, 
or  rather  dragged,  over  some  stone  steps,  and  then 
roughly  flung  on  the  ground.     Finally,  a  rope  wa§ 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  289 

passed  under  my  arms,  and  I  soon  felt  that  I  was  being 
lowered  into  emptiness.  After  a  descent  which  I 
estimated  at  eight  to  ten  metres,  I  touched  the  ground, 
where  I  remained  stretched  out  on  my  stomach.  At 
the  same  time  the  rope,  pulled  from  the  end,  was  drawn 
up;  I  heard  a  sound  like  that  of  a  slab  falling  on  the 
stone;  and  that  was  all. 

*'Here  I  am  buried  in  the  oubliettes  of  I'Herm!" 
was  my  first  thought.  Then  I  considered  how  I  might 
set  about  extricating  myself  from  fhe  uncomfortable 
position  in  which  I  was.  But  the  scoundrels  had 
bound  me  in  such  a  way  that  to  do  this  was  not  at 
all  easy.  I  tried  first  to  turn  over  on  my  back,  and 
after  several  somersaults  I  succeeded.  After  that  I 
tried  to  rise  to  my  feet,  but  I  was  not  able  to  do  so, 
and  several  times  I  fell  heavily  to  earth.  Bruised  and 
exhausted,  I  lay  motionless  a  long  time ;  finally  having 
with  difficulty  rolled  myself  over  several  times  I  found 
myself  against  a  wall.  Turning  my  back  to  it,  I 
rubbed  against  it  with  the  ropes  that  bound  my  hands. 
Not  only,  however,  was  this  proceeding  very  difficult, 
but  the  ropes  were  strong;  so  that  after  I  had  rubbed 
a  long  time,  I  stopped,  worn  out  with  fatigue.  The 
air,  which  I  breathed  with  difficulty  through  the  coarse 
sackcloth,  was  heavy  and  close;  the  stale  odor  of  a 
damp  cellar  came  to  my  nostrils,  but  not  the  slightest 
noise,  faint  or  heavy  or  even  distant,  reached  me.  I 
was  in  a  tomb.  One  can  imagine  that  I  had  some 
sad  reflections  there.  I  was  condemned  to  die  slowly 
of  hunger  in  the  depths  of  this  dungeon;  I  knew  the 


290  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

Comte  de  Nansac  too  well  to  doubt  it  for  an  instant. 
I  did  not  lose  courage,  however,  and  after  I  had  rested, 
I  began  again  to  rub  the  cord  against  the  wall,  not 
without  taking  the  skin  off  my  hands.  And  that  rope 
still  held!  Fortunately,  by  feeling  about,  I  found  a 
stone  rougher  than  the  others,  so  that  when  I  had 
scraped  it  many  times,  for  about  ten  hours,  I  believe, 
I  felt  my  bonds  loosen,  and  soon  my  hands  were  free. 
The  first  use  I  made  of  them  was  to  take  the  sack 
off  my  head,  and  the  handkerchief  from  my  mouth, 
after  which  I  untied  my  legs  and  stood  up. 

I  was  still  in  the  most  profound  darkness,  in  pitch 
blackness.  Taking  small  steps,  with  my  hands  on  the 
wall,  I  soon  saw  that  the  underground  vault  was  cir- 
cular. But  all  at  once  an  idea  occurred  to  me : — sup- 
pose there  was  a  well  in  the  floor  of  the  oubliette? 

I  thought  about  it  for  a  moment,  and  then  con- 
tinued my  walk,  feeling  in  advance  with  my  foot  to 
make  sure  that  there  was  no  void  before  me.  When 
I  had  come  back  to  my  point  of  departure,  which  I 
recognized  by  finding  the  fragments  of  rope  under 
my  feet,  I  realized  that  I  was  in  one  of  the  dungeons 
of  the  towers  of  THenn.  After  I  had  made  the 
circle  of  the  walls,  I  ventured  to  cross  my  prison  on 
all  fours,  feeling  my  way  with  outstretched  hands, 
for  fear  of  falling  into  some  well.  Finally,  when  I 
had  crawled  about  everywhere,  I  was  reassured  on 
this  score,  but  I  remained  under  the  horrible  certainty 
of  being  destined  to  rot  in  the  bottom  of  this  dungeon. 
To  rot  is  exactly  the  word,  for  dampness  oozed  from 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  291 

the  walls,  which  proved  to  me  that  I  was  below  the 
level  of  the  chateau  moat. 

It  was  a  long  time  since  I  had  eaten,  at  least  twenty- 
four  hours,  to  judge  from  the  pains  in  my  stomach, 
which  greatly  fatigued  me ;  where  I  was,  in  the  absolute 
darkness,  I  had  only  this  means  of  judging  time.  I 
sat  down  on  the  ground,  overwhelmed  with  despair, 
my  back  against  the  wall,  and  thought  of  all  those 
of  whom  I  was  fond,  especially  of  my  dear  Lina, 
whom  I  was  abandoning  defenseless  to  the  persecu- 
tions of  her  abominable  mother  and  that  scoundrel 
Guilhem.  This  idea  seemed  to  break  my  heart,  and 
made  me  suffer  more  than  hunger;  but  I  was  soon 
distracted  from  it  by  the  thought  of  my  own  situation. 
What  awaited  me  here?  A  slow,  frightful  death,  the 
very  thought  of  which  made  me  shiver.  I  had  scarcely 
any  hope.  I  felt  quite  sure  that  when  I  did  not  return, 
Jean  would  go  to  the  mayor  and  send  someone  to 
notify  the  Chevalier,  and  I  felt  certain  that  the  latter 
would  make  an  effort  to  find  me.  It  was  probable, 
I  thought,  that  their  first  idea  would  be  that  the  Comte 
de  Nansac  had  been  the  cause  of  my  disappearance, 
but  they  might  easily  think  he  had  thrown  me  into 
the  Gour,  with  a  stone  tied  to  my  neck  like  a  dog, 
just  as  had  happened  to  so  many  unfortunate  men 
murdered  by  brigands  whose  skeletons  are  now  lying 
in  its  unfathomable  depths.  For  himself  and  his  own 
safety,  this  would  certainly  be  the  best  thing  to  do; 
but  if  the  Count  were  determined  to  get  rid  of  me, 
he  was  even  more  determined  to  make  me  suffer  a 


292  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

very  slow  and  painful  death.  How  could  Jean  and 
the  Chevalier  have  imagined  that  I  was  immured  in 
the  dungeons  of  one  of  the  towers  of  I'Herm,  in 
an  oubliette  of  which  they  doubtless  knew  nothing? 
That  was  a  difficulty;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  I  was 
quite  certain  that  the  Count  had  taken  every  precau- 
tion, so  that  in  case  the  chateau  were  searched,  I  should 
not  be  found.  This  terrible  thought  of  being  buried 
alive  stabbed  me  so  to  the  heart,  that,  with  the  tortures 
of  hunger  I  felt,  I  could  not  sleep.  Before  my  eyes, 
inflamed  with  sleeplessness,  I  seemed  to  see  fiery 
palaces,  luminous  landscapes,  which  faded  into  dark- 
ness, and  followed  one  another  slowly.  To  escape  this 
torture,  I  tried  to  close  my  eyes,  but  in  front  of  my 
lowered,  burning  eyelids,  there  passed  sorrowful 
mirages,  or  red  or  phosphorescent  vapors  rose,  like  the 
reflections  of  an  enormous  conflagration.  I  was  weary 
of  sitting  up,  and  yet  I  dared  not  lie  down,  for  my 
imagination,  grown  feverish  for  lack  of  sleep,  and 
of  food,  made  me  dread  that  I  should  fall  asleep 
forever.  So,  in  spite  of  my  weakness,  I  crawled  about 
on  all  fours  over  the  damp  earth;  I  tried  to  dig  it 
with  my  hand ;  and  I  wore  myself  out  enlarging  some 
holes  I  found  like  the  burrows  of  a  great  mole;  and 
finally  I  stopped,  at  the  end  of  my  strength,  panting 
and  stretched  on  the  ground.  A  long  time  afterwards, 
I  began  to  explore  my  tomb  again,  seeking  mechanic- 
ally, though  hopelessly,  for  some  outlet.  While  I  was 
dragging  myself  about  in  this  way  on  all  fours,  I 
chanced  to  put  my  hands  on  something  that  seemed 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  293 

to  me  at  first  like  a  little  pile  of  small  pieces  of  dead 
wood;  but  suddenly,  having  felt  them  more  carefully, 
the  horrible  truth  dawned  upon  me.  They  were  the 
remains  of  a  skeleton  which,  rotted  by  time,  were 
crumbling  under  my  hands. 

At  this  moment  I  felt  despair  overwhelm  me,  and 
I  fell  to  the  earth,  crushed,  near  these  human  remains 
that  had  lain  hidden  in  this  spot  for  many  long  years. 
But  while  I  lay  there  what  should  I  hear  but  heavy 
steps  overhead,  echoing  above  the  vault.  I  raised  my- 
self up  and  listened.  A  scarcely  audible  murmur,  like 
that  of  men  talking  at  a  distance,  reached  the  depths 
of  the  dungeon,  interspersed  with  slow  heavy  steps. 

It  is  the  gendarmes  making  a  search,  I  thought; 
and,  my  hope  returning,  I  began  to  cry  out.  But  at 
once  the  noise  ceased,  the  steps  grew  fainter  in  the 
distance,  and  I  slipped  back  into  the  deathlike  silence 
that  had  enveloped  me  since  my  descent  into  the  depths 
of  the  tomb.  Crushed  by  despair,  I  sank  down  on 
the  ground,  the  horrors  of  the  place  disappeared  from 
my  tortured  thoughts,  my  head  reeled,  and  I  fainted. 

A  sharp  pain  in  my  cheek  awoke  me,  and,  putting 
my  hand  there,  I  felt  something  that  let  go  and  fled, 
while  I  had  the  sensation  of  similar  creatures  over 
my  body  that  fled  also,  terrified  by  my  movement. 

This,  then,  was  the  explanation  of  those  holes  that 
I  had  found  in  the  floor  of  the  oubliette;  they  were 
old  rat-holes.  These  enormous  animals  that  swarmed 
in  the  old  walls  of  the  moat,  had  dug  under  the  founda- 
tions of  the  tower,  and  with  that  terrible  sense  of 


294  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

smell,  which  pierces  the  thickest  walls,  they  had  scented 
a  prey,  and,  mad  with  hunger,  had  rushed  in.  The 
terrible  certainty  of  being  devoured  half  alive  by  these 
disgusting  creatures  drove  me  frantic.  I  tried  to  break 
my  head  against  the  walls,  but  I  was  incapable  of 
standing  upright,  and  even  more  incapable  of  achiev- 
ing the  necessary  strength.  Then  I  thought  of  the 
cords  that  had  bound  me,  and,  groping  about  for  them 
in  this  horrible  darkness,  with  difficulty  and  after  long 
hours,  I  found  them.  Having  nothing  to  which  I 
could  attach  the  end  of  the  rope,  I  made  a  knot  which 
I  slipped  about  my  neck,  and  I  tried  to  strangle  my- 
self. But  the  prolonged  fast  had  so  weakened  me 
that  my  arms  fell  back,  powerless,  and  I  lay  there, 
inert  and  motionless. 

As  soon  as  I  had  ceased  to  move  about,  the  rats, 
seeing  me  exhausted,  flocked  back  in  crowds,  ready 
to  fall  upon  me.  I  heard  them  running  about  in  the 
dark,  and  they  grew  bold  enough  to  come  and  nibble 
the  leather  of  my  shoes.  At  this  moment  the  idea 
of  catching  one  occurred  to  me,  so  as  to  appease  the 
hunger  that  tortured  me.  Oh!  with  what  burning 
appetite  did  I  dream  of  tearing  one  of  these  unclean 
creatures  with  my  teeth,  and  devouring  him  raw  and 
alive ! 

I  waited,  and  soon  I  felt  them  climbing  over  me, 
hunting  for  my  hands  and  face.  Several  times  I  tried 
in  vain  to  grasp  them;  my  hands  had  no  longer  the 
necessary  agility  and  I  was  not  able. 

Then,  tormented  by  the  hunger  which  gripped  my 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  295 

entrails,  and  no  longer  in  my  right  senses,  I  lifted  my 
hands  to  my  mouth  and  tried  mechanically  to  bite 
them.  But  I  no  longer  had  the  strength,  and  I  re- 
mained a  long  time  motionless,  as  if  I  were  dead.  Now 
the  rats  ran  over  me  without  my  being  able  to  drive 
them  away.  Even  their  bites  left  me  almost  insensible, 
and  I  became  their  prey  without  having  the  power 
to  defend  myself.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  been 
there  for  eight  days;  my  ears  roared,  my  head  could 
no  longer  produce  a  thought,  my  will  was  relaxing, 
and  becoming  utterly  destroyed,  I  felt  life  slipping 
from  me,  and  ended  by  falling  into  a  stupor  that  was 
the  forerunner  of  death. 

When  I  came  to  myself,  I  was  in  a  bed.  Someone 
was  gently  forcing  my  teeth  apart  and  making  me 
swallow  a  little  broth  mixed  with  wine  in  a  spoon. 
My  eyes,  from  disuse,  could  not  stand  the  daylight, 
and  I  closed  them  again  at  once.  My  hands  and  face 
smarted  hotly  in  spots,  where  the  rats  had  bitten  me, 
but  I  did  not  attribute  this  pain  to  any  cause.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  my  skull  had  been  split,  that  my 
brain  had  dissolved,  and  my  head  had  emptied  itself 
like  a  gourd.  I  lay  there,  incapable  of  forming  an 
idea,  merely  breathing,  and  that  very  faintly.  Then, 
little  by  little,  with  time  and  care,  I  began  to  revive, 
and  recognized  Jean  at  my  bedside. 

"And  Lina?"  I  asked,  feebly. 

"Well,  you'll  see  her  when  you're  about  again." 

Somewhat  quieted,  I  went  to  sleep  again. 


296  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

The  Chevalier  came  a  few  days  later,  and,  seeing 
me  better,  he  said: 

"Now  you're  saved  ...  for  this  time!  That  goes 
without  saying,  like  Master  Jean's  breviary." 

I  smiled  faintly,  and  thanked  him  for  all  their  kind- 
ness, for  I  knew  that  he  and  his  sister  had  sent  the 
chickens  for  the  soup,  the  white  bread,  and  some  old 
wine  and  sugar. 

"Bah!"  he  exclaimed.  "That's  nothing  at  all,  my 
poor  Jacques." 

"Excuse  me,  M.  le  Chevalier,"  said  Jean,  "without 
that  good  wine  I'm  sure  he'd  've  gone  into  the  country 
of  the  moles." 

"Ah !  Ah !  So  much  the  better,  so  much  the  better 
that  my  remedy  has  worked;  but,  except  for  that, 
what  does  it  matter? 

"  'Dog's  dung  and  silver  mark, 

Will  all  be  one  on  the  Judgment  Day !' " 

This  time  I  laughed  a  bit  more  heartily,  and  the 
Chevalier  went  away  well  pleased,  but  not  before  I 
had  begged  him  to  thank  the  good  Mile.  Hermine  most 
heartily  for  me. 

A  month  later  I  was  on  my  feet,  but  still  weak,  and 
able  to  walk  only  a  few  steps  at  a  time,  with  a  stick; 
then,  little  by  little,  my  strength  came  back.  While 
I  was  still  in  bed,  always  thinking  of  Lina,  and  very 
much  disturbed  because  I  could  not  see  her,  I  often 
spoke  of  her  to  Jean,  who  always  said  something  to 
calm  me  and  make  me  patient.     As  soon  as  I  could 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  297 

understand  anything,  I  asked  him  how  I  happened 
to  be  there,  in  his  bed;  and  then  he  explained  that 
one  morning  they  had  found  me  in  the  forest  on  the 
highway,  lying  as  if  dead,  my  face  and  hands  covered 
with  blood.  Everything  which  I  told  him  of  the  spot 
where  I  had  been  made  him  more  certain  that  it  was 
the  Comte  de  Nansac  who  had  kidnapped  me.  I 
learned  then  that  the  steps  which  I  had  heard  in  the 
depths  of  the  dungeon  had  indeed  been  those  of  the 
gendarmes,  who,  together  with  the  mayor,  had  made 
an  inspection  of  the  chateau,  on  the  complaint  of  the 
Chevalier.  The  Count  had  shown  them  all  about, 
from  the  cellars  to  the  attics,  and  had  led  them  to 
the  prison;  but  as  the  slab  that  closed  the  oubliette, 
as  well  as  the  whole  pavement,  was  covered  with  thick 
layers  of  dry  earth,  not  one  of  them  suspected  that 
there  was  a  vault  underneath.  Besides,  the  mayor 
was  under  the  Count's  thumb,  and  the  gendarmes 
sometimes  lunched  at  the  chateau  when  they  made 
their  rounds.  This  brigand,  whom  they  knew  to  be 
powerful,  overawed  them,  so  that  they  did  their  busi- 
ness rather  as  a  matter  of  form.  It  must  be  added 
in  their  defense  that  without  doubt  they  did  not  con- 
sider the  Count  capable  of  such  a  deed. 

But  the  Chevalier,  warned  by  Jean,  who  had  learned 
from  some  old  men  of  the  existence  of  an  oubliette 
at  THerm,  had  gone  back  to  Montignac  one  after- 
noon, and  had  stirred  up  the  justice  of  the  peace 
and  the  gendarmes  to  make  another  search,  especially 
underneath  the  prison.    The  gendarmes,  who  felt  that 


298  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

they  had  been  rather  lax,  were  considerably  annoyed, 
particularly  because  this  affair  had  set  all  Montignac 
talking,  and  the  folk  there  are  no  cowards.  The  most 
exasperated  man  of  all  was  old  Cassius,  of  whom 
the  Chevalier  had  spoken  to  us.  He  went  about  the 
town  saying  that  they  ought  to  have  the  Revolution 
over  again,  since  the  lesson  had  not  been  severe  enough 
for  some  people  who  wished  to  begin  again  the  old 
tyrannical  ways. 

Because  of  all  this  clamor  and  the  firm  insistence 
of  the  Chevalier,  it  was  decided  that  a  new  investiga- 
tion should  be  made  the  following  morning.  But  in 
the  night  a  hurried  warning  was  sent  to  the  Count; 
by  whom,  we  never  knew.  That  morning,  however, 
I  was  found  on  the  highway,  as  I  have  said;  this  cut 
short  any  further  search.  Besides,  the  courts  of  jus- 
tice cared  so  little  about  clearing  up  this  affair  that 
I  was  not  even  questioned. 

As  for  me,  as  soon  as  strength  and  will  had  returned 
to  me,  I  remembered  in  my  heart  the  first  oath  I  had 
ever  sworn, — to  be  avenged  on  the  Comte  de  Nansac ; 
and  from  that  time  onwards  the  thought  never  left 
me.  But  at  first,  something  more  than  vengeance  tor- 
mented me;  this  was  the  desire  to  see  my  Lina  again. 
I  was  impatient  until  I  could  walk  well  enough  again ; 
and  as  soon  as  I  was  able,  and  in  spite  of  Jean's  try- 
ing to  make  me  put  it  off  until  the  next  Sunday,  I 
went  to  Bars,  and  waited^  as  I  usually  did,  until  the 
congregation  came  out  from  mass.  Bertrille  came 
forth  first  alone,  and,  seeing  me,  came  towards  me. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  299 

'Is  Lina  there?'*  I  asked  her,  without  any  salutation. 
She  looked  at  me  with  such  an  air  of  sad  astonish- 
ment that  something  gripped  my  heart.  And  just  at 
this  moment  Mathive  came  out  of  church  dressed  in 
mourning.  I  repeated  my  question  in  a  sort  of  fright- 
ful trance.    Bertrille  drew  me  to  one  side: 

*'Then  you  know  nothing?" 

"But  what  is  it?   You're  killing  me." 

"Alas!  my  Jacquou,  you  will  never  see  poor  Lina 
again !  .  .  .  She  is  dead !" 

"Oh,  God !"  I  cried,  stunned  by  the  news. 

Then  Bertrille  led  me  further  away  on  a  lonely 
path,  and  told  me  what  had  happened. 

In  order  to  keep  her  Guilhem,  who  was  continually 
threatening  to  leave  because  he  saw  clearly  that  when 
Lina  was  mistress  in  her  own  right  it  would  be  an 
end  of  his  fun,  Mathive,  overcoming  her  jealousy, 
had  determined  to  marry  him  to  her  daughter. 
Naturally  the  poor  child  resisted;  so  that  there  were 
continual  quarrels  in  the  house  and  beatings,  that 
brought  all  the  neighbors  to  their  doorsteps.  It  came 
to  such  a  point  that  Mathive  gave  herself  up  to  beat- 
ing her  daughter  nearly  every  day  to  force  her  to 
consent.  So  that  it  happened  one  afternoon,  when 
she  had  scolded  her,  cuffed  her,  pulled  her  hair  and 
beaten  her  so  severely  that  she  carried  the  marks  on 
her  face,  the  poor  child,  terrified,  had  escaped  from 
the  hands  of  her  miserable  mother,  who  was  capable 
of  killing  her  at  any  moment.  When  she  had  hurried 
to  Maurezies  to  tell  me  that  she  could  no  longer  endure 


300  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

it,  and  to  consult  me  about  what  she  should  do,  she 
had  come  across  one  of  our  neighbors  whom  she  had 
asked  where  I  was. 

"Ah,  poor  girl!  Who  knows  where  he  is!  For 
three  days  and  three  nights  no  living  soul  has  seen 
him.  He  was  out  hunting  hares  at  night.  Without 
doubt  he  has  been  murdered  and  thrown  into  the 
Gour." 

At  that,  poor  Lina  rushed  off  desperate,  not  know- 
ing what  she  was  about,  and  climbed  up  over  La  Gran- 
val.  The  next  day,  while  they  were  picking  me  up 
on  the  road,  they  found  her  little  sabots  on  the  bank 
of  the  Gour.  .  .  . 

When  I  heard  this,  I  fled  to  the  forest,  mad  with 
grief,  and,  like  a  mortally  wounded  animal,  I  flung 
myself  into  a  thicket,  where  I  wept  until  evening, 
sobbing,  biting  the  grass,  and  sometimes  howling  with 
despair  like  a  maddened  wolf.  Then,  when  night  had 
fallen,  I  came  back  to  Maurezies,  and  went  to  bed 
without  supper. 

From  that  day  on,  I  began  every  evening  to  roam 
about  such  villages  in  the  neighborhood  of  THerm 
as  Prisse,  Les  Bessedes,  Le  Mayne,  La  Lande,  Martil- 
lat.  La  Laquens,  La  Bourdarie,  Monplaisir,  and  others 
where  people  had  suffered  most  from  the  evil  doings 
of  the  Comte  de  Nansac.  Everywhere  I  vv^ent  I  re- 
called to  men's  minds  the  many  petty  tyrannies  of 
that  scoundrel,  his  wickedness,  the  cold  ferocity  with 
which  he  abused  his  power,  his  insolence,  and  that  of 
his  son  and  their  guests  towards  women.     In  each 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  801 

one  I  revived  the  memory  of  what  he  in  particular 
had  had  to  suffer  from  this  hateful  lord  of  contraband. 
I  tried  to  arouse  these  poor  people,  bowed  down  under 
this  shameful  tyranny;  to  make  them  feel  that  they 
were  still  men  and  that  they  would  be  free  of  this 
brigand  the  day  they  had  the  courage  to  take  up  their 
pitchforks  and  resist  him. 

They  all  thought  as  I  did,  but  there  were  cowards 
among  them  who  sought  to  put  off  the  moment  of 
action ;  and  these  men,  although  they  agreed  with  me, 
would  make  difficulties,  saying  that  the  Count  was 
very  powerful,  that  he  had  always  done  as  he  liked, 
and  that  to  attack  him  was  to  spit  at  the  sun  and 
risk  the  gallows. 

''You  know  very  well,  my  poor  Jacquou,  that  your 
father  paid  heavily  for  rebelling  against  that  wicked 
man." 

"Listen,"  I  told  them,  ''they  cannot  condemn  the 
whole  of  our  villages  to  the  galleys;  the  leader  will 
pay  for  it  all.  Very  well,  I  will  take  the  blame  upon 
myself.  For  that  matter,  my  friends,  the  times  are 
no  longer  the  same.  We  are  no  longer  in  1815;  we 
are  in  1830;  and  from  what  I  have  heard  said  to 
M.  de  Galibert  of  Fanlac — and  he  is  a  prince  of  gal- 
lant gentlemen — the  revolution  is  not  far  off,  thanks 
to  the  behavior  of  those  who,  like  the  Comte  de  Nan- 
sac,  would  like  to  bring  back  the  old  order  of  things." 

In  affairs  of  this  sort,  you  must  usually  be  very 
careful  to  whom  you  speak,  so  as  to  avoid  traitors; 
but  there  was  no  danger  here.    The  Count  had  noth- 


302  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

ing  but  enemies  in  the  countryside;  his  farmers  were, 
perhaps,  his  worst  ones,  as  they  were  most  exposed 
to  his  villainy;  besides,  they  never  stayed  more  than 
a  year  with  him. 

For  three  months  I  went  all  about  the  countryside 
in  this  way,  seeing  people.  Finally,  by  exhorting  and 
encouraging  them,  I  managed  to  enlist  them  all  on 
my  side.  When  I  saw  that  their  minds  were  really 
made  up,  I  gave  them  a  rendezvous  for  a  certain  night 
in  a  piece  of  waste  land  to  the  north  of  Maurezies. 

At  eleven  o'clock  I  was  there  with  Jean  and  one 
of  our  neighbors.  I  expected  about  forty  or  fifty  men, 
but  I  was  much  astonished  when  I  saw  many  women 
coming  with  the  men. 

The  spot  was  in  a  little  upland  surrounded  by  woods, 
and  far  from  any  road.  In  the  rocky,  sandy  soil  there 
grew  a  few  tufts  of  thlaspi  and  wild  everlasting,  and 
here  and  there  a  few  juniper  trees  of  a  grayish  green. 
In  one  spot,  on  the  dark  edge  of  the  undergrowth, 
the  silver  trunk  of  a  birch  tree,  sown  there  by  the 
wind,  seemed  like  a  ghost  in  its  shroud.  In  the  midst 
was  a  heap  of  giant  stones  called  Pey re-Male,  or  the 
wolf's  hut,  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  druidical  altar 
pulled  down,  according  to  Bonal,  at  the  time  of  Tiber- 
ius, who  caused  the  monuments  of  our  ancient  na- 
tional worship  to  be  destroyed  and  its  priests  put  to 
death.  It  was  here  that  old  Huguette,  the  sorceress 
of  the  Cros-de-Mortier,  made  her  sacrifices  by  night. 
Those  who  had  need  of  her  divinations  came  to  this 
spot  carrying  a  cock  or  a  hen,  as  the  case  might  be, 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  808 

which  the  old  woman  bled,  with  a  mass  of  absurd  cere- 
monies. Finally,  having  sprinkled  the  stone  with  the 
fowl's  blood,  she  opened  its  belly  with  a  cut  of  her 
knife  and  rummaged  about  inside  by  moonlight  to 
draw  out  into  view  the  heart  and  liver,  the  omens 
regarding  the  matter  about  which  she  had  been  con- 
sulted. 

The  sorceress  is  dead  now,  and  the  sacrifices  of 
fowls  have  ceased;  but  there  are  some  old  folk  still 
living  who  witnessed  them. 

As  the  people  came  out  of  the  woods,  they  grouped 
themselves  about  the  Peyre-Male  and  waited,  leaning 
on  their  heavy  sticks.  When  I  saw  that  everyone  had 
arrived,  I  got  up  and,  addressing  the  women,  I  asked 
them  why  they  had  come  there. 

"And  do  you  imagine,'*  said  an  old  woman  from 
Prisse,  "that  we  have  nothing  to  avenge?" 

"Do  you  think  that  we  are  more  cowardly  than 
the  men?"  asked  another. 

And  then,  climbing  up  on  one  of  the  big  stones,  I 
repeated  my  first  exhortations  to  the  villagers,  and 
pointed  out  very  clearly  the  misery  of  our  present 
situation.  While  I  was  speaking,  recounting  at  length 
the  grievances  of  the  countryside  against  the  Comte  de 
Nansac,  my  words  re-opened  the  wounds  of  these  poor 
people,  and  in  the  shadow  I  saw  tears  glisten  in  their 
eyes.  They  were  a  curious  sight,  these  peasants  as- 
sembled by  night  in  that  wild  spot.  They  were  all 
wretchedly  clothed, — with  drugget  jackets  faded  by 
wear;    old,    discolored    blouses,    soiled    with    work; 


8M  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

trousers  of  coarse  linen  or  fustian,  patched  with  dis- 
similar fragments.  Some  old  men  like  Jean  had  worn 
cloaks  frayed  at  the  bottom,  and  other  poor  devils 
of  tatterdemalions  were  half -covered  with  rags  that 
no  longer  had  either  shape  or  color.  Most  of  them 
wore  blue  or  white  cotton  caps,  with  a  little  tassel; 
dirty  caps,  often  in  holes,  that  allowed  thick  locks  of 
hair  to  escape.  Others  wore  great  round  Perigord 
hats,  with  limp  brims,  that  had  lost  their  shape  from 
age  and  were  discolored  by  sun  and  rain.  None  of 
them  wore  shoes;  all  were  barefoot,  their  sabots  filled 
with  straw  or  hay.  The  women  hid  their  printed 
calico  bodices  and  their  drugget  skirts  under  wretched 
capes  of  fustian,  or  covered  their  shoulders  with  one 
of  those  coarse  fichus  which  we  call  in  patois  coullets. 

They  formed,  indeed,  a  true  picture  of  the  poor 
Perigord  peasant  of  former  times,  deliberately  kept 
in  ignorance,  badly  nourished,  badly  clothed,  always 
toiling  and  moiling,  counting  for  nothing,  and  despised 
by  the  rich. 

When  I  had  finished  my  speech,  I  said :  "Now  speak ! 
your  fate  lies  in  your  hands,  you  need  nothing  but 
courage.  Are  you  firmly  decided  to  avenge  yourselves 
on  the  brigand  of  Nansac,  to  overthrow  this  evil  power, 
to  free  yourselves  forever  from  this  family  of 
wolves  ?" 

"Yes,  yes!"  cried  all,  in  a  hollow  voice. 

Then,  having  made  them  turn  towards  the  Chateau 
de  THerm,  I  bade  them  take  oath,  after  the  ancient 
custom  Qf  our  ancestors,  as  my  mother  had  quca  made 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  805 

me  swear  long  ago.  Like  me,  each  one  spat  in  his 
right  hand,  and,  having  traced  a  cross  in  it  with  the 
first  finger  of  his  left,  he  stretched  it  out  open,  and 
said  in  a  low  voice  after  me: 

"Down  with  the  Nansacs  V 

**That  is  well,  my  friends;  and  now  let  each  one 
keep  himself  ready.  One  of  these  nights,  when  the 
moment  is  favorable,  you  will  hear  three  short,  regular 
blasts  of  a  horn,  followed  by  a  long  blast.  Come  here 
then  quickly,  all  of  you.  Vengeance  will  be  near,  and 
our  deliverance  in  our  hands!" 

At  that,  the  crowd  dispersed  into  the  woods  and 
each  one  went  back  to  his  own  village. 

A  young  boy  from  Prisse,  bold  and  clever,  watched 
the  chateau  for  me,  and  kept  me  informed  what  was 
going  on  there.  One  evening,  as  Jean  and  I  were 
finishing  supper,  I  saw  him  coming. 

"All  the  gentlemen  that  were  at  the  chateau  have 
left.  It  seems  that  the  Count's  son  has  gone  back 
to  Paris ;  now  there  remain  only  the  Count,  the  young 
ladies,  the  chaplain,  and  the  guards  and  servants." 

"Ah!"  I  said,  getting  up,  "so  the  day  has  come! 
Look,  my  boy;  you  must  run  to  La  Lande  and  to 
Mayne  and  tell  Fran(;ois  at  the  home  of  Bourru  and 
big  Michelon  to  repeat  the  blasts  of  my  horn  when 
they  hear  them.  After  that,  you  will  go  and  hide 
at  the  outskirts  of  the  chateau,  and  when  you  have 
made  the  round  of  the  moat  and  are  sure  thct  all  the 
lights  are  out,  you  must  come  and  tell  me  at  Peyre- 
Male.     Here,  take  a  drink  and  go." 


306  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

And  I  gave  him  a  glassful  of  wine  left  over  from 
what  the  Chevalier  had  sent  to  me.  The  boy  swal- 
lowed it  at  a  gulp,  wiped  his  lips  on  his  hand,  and 
ran  off. 

About  nine  o'clock  I  took  Jean's  gun,  for  mine  had 
disappeared  at  the  time  of  my  capture,  and  went 
straight  to  the  upland  of  Pey re-Male.  It  was  towards 
the  end  of  May.  It  had  rained  during  the  day,  and 
great  black  clouds  slipped  slowly  across  the  sky,  hiding 
the  stars.  The  moon  had  set,  so  that  it  was  also  very 
dark.  I  walked  slowly,  planning  just  what  we  should 
do  in  order  to  succeed.  My  plan  was  to  attack  the 
chateau,  and  after  I  had  taken  it,  to  set  it  on  fire,  so 
as  to  rid  the  country  of  this  family  of  brigands.  I 
hoped  very  much  that  in  the  assault  I  should  meet 
the  Count  and  kill  him  in  combat,  because  he  deserved 
death  for  all  the  evil  he  had  done,  if  only  that  he 
had  done  to  me.  And  how  many  others  had  been  his 
victims!  But  I  reserved  him  for  myself.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  because  of  the  venomous  hatred  I  bore  him 
he  belonged  to  me.  Also,  I  was  counting  on  outdoing 
myself,  so  as  to  get  him  face  to  face  with  me,  and 
strike  him  down  at  my  feet  in  the  heat  of  battle.  The 
reason  back  of  my  ardent  desire  was,  I  felt  in  the 
depths  of  my  soul,  that  if  he  was  made  a  prisoner, 
I  could  never  kill  him  in  cold  blood,  or  have  him  killed 
while  he  was  unarmed  and  helpless.  And,  although 
my  hatred  protested  against  it,  this  fact  that  I  could 
not  treat  him  so,  filled  me  with  pride,  because  I  felt 
that  I  was  superior  to  the  wretch  who  had  wished  to 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  807 

kill  me  by  a  slow  fire,  as  they  say,  after  having  trapped 
me  in  a  cowardly  ambuscade. 

And  as  I  reflected  on  this,  I  told  myself  that  even 
if  the  Count  should  escape  with  his  life,  he  would 
scarcely  be  any  the  better  off.  The  fact  was  that 
for  some  time  rumors  had  been  spreading  that  he  was 
ruined.  They  said  that  he  had  squandered  all  his 
fortune,  which,  from  the  life  he  had  led,  was  easy  to 
believe.  People  had  got  wind  of  his  predicament,  in 
the  fact  that  for  the  past  two  or  three  months  bailiffs 
had  been  coming  to  the  house.  They  had  been  none 
too  well  received;  one  of  them,  who  had  spoken  of 
drawing  up  a  written  statement,  had  been  obliged  to 
jump  into  the  ditch  and  escape  drenched  with  water 
and  covered  with  slime  up  to  his  armpits. 

If  that  were  so,  the  burning  of  the  chateau  would 
mean  his  ruin ;  for  insurance  companies,  quite  new  at 
that  time,  were  unknown  in  our  region.  Perhaps  to 
be  thus  reduced  to  poverty  and  impotence  would  be, 
for  this  proud  man,  this  ferocious  tyrant,  a  punish- 
ment worse  than  death. 

One  other  thing  concerned  me.  I  was  sure  that 
the  attack  would  be  no  easy  matter,  and  that  the 
Count  and  his  men  would  not  let  themselves  be  dis- 
lodged without  resistance ;  so  I  sought  for  some  means 
of  accomplishing  my  end  without  exposing  my  people 
too  much.  Suddenly  I  realized  that  to  do  this,  we 
must  attack  the  chateau  unexpectedly  and  take  it 
quickly.  I  thought  for  a  long  time  about  the  way 
in  which  we  should  set  about  it;  and,  after  weighing 


308  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

and  examining  everything  and  mapping  out  my  plan 
in  my  head,  I  waited. 

The  weather  was  mild ;  the  warm,  wet  earth  stirred 
with  life.  A  slight  breeze,  passing  lightly  over  the 
waste  land,  made  the  slender  grasses  shiver,  and 
brought  me  the  odor  of  damp  woods,  of  opening  buds, 
and  from  afar  the  drifting  fragrance  of  the  white 
hedgerows,  in  blossom  along  the  roads.  Under  the 
heap  of  enormous  stones  on  which  I  was  sitting,  a 
rat  in  his  hole  was  nibbling  a  chestnut  from  his  winter 
store.  At  times  a  night-bird  would  cross  the  upland 
in  his  heavy,  noiseless  flight,  uttering  a  melancholy  call 
to  his  mate.  In  this  fragrant  night,  one  seemed  to 
feel  once  more  the  germination  of  the  fertile  earth, 
inciting  all  living  things  to  love.  Then  my  thoughts 
turned  towards  my  dead  Lina,  and  my  bitter  regret, 
together  with  my  hot  anger  against  her  murderers, 
mingled  with  the  dear  memory  of  my  poor  sweetheart ; 
so  that  I  sat  dreaming  a  long  time,  with  my  head  in 
my  hands. 

A  quick  step  at  the  edge  of  the  waste  land  made 
me  rise  to  my  feet;  it  was  the  boy  from  Prisse. 

"The  whole  chateau  is  asleep,"  he  told  me. 

"That's  good,  son!" 

And,  putting  my  horn  to  my  mouth,  I  sent  in  the 
direction  of  La  Lande  and  Mayne  three  short  blasts 
in  succession,  followed  by  a  fourth  long  one,  which 
died  away  like  the  bellowing  of  a  bull  under  the  ax 
of  a  butcher. 

Two  horns  answered  me  at  once,  throwing  out  into 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  309 

the  night  their  sinister  summons.  Soon  those  people 
who  lived  nearest  had  arrived;  and  three-quarters  of 
an  hour  later  all  the  village  people  v^ere  there,  about 
ninety  in  all,  including  the  women,  who  carried  sticks, 
hoes  and  goads.  The  men  were  armed  with  guns,  iron 
pitchforks,  gibes,  hatchets,  and  the  blacksmith  of  Mey- 
rignac  had  brought  the  biggest  hammer  in  his  shop. 

When  I  saw  they  were  all  there,  I  assembled  them 
in  a  circle,  and  going  into  the  center,  I  explained  to 
them  at  once  that  in  order  to  succeed  without  too 
greatly  exposing  ourselves,  we  must  act  promptly.  The 
first  gate,  that  of  the  court,  since  it  was  only  bolted, 
could  easily  be  opened  quickly  by  a  man  who  crossed 
the  water  and  climbed  the  wall  of  the  moat,  clinging 
to  the  little  trees  that  grew  from  the  crevices  in  the 
stones.  But  the  entrance  gate  of  the  chateau  was  made 
of  heavy  oaken  planks,  reinforced  with  great  spikes, 
solidly  closed  with  a  strong  lock,  and  barred  from  the 
inside  with  two  heavy  pieces  of  wood.  It  would  not 
be  easy  to  attack  this  gate  with  axes,  because  of  the 
nails;  nor  even  to  burst  it  in  with  the  heavy  hammer 
of  the  blacksmith.  For,  during  all  this  time,  the  Count 
and  his  guards,  not  to  mention  the  young  ladies,  who 
could  handle  a  gun  very  well,  would  be  shooting  at 
us  from  the  loop-holes.  Therefore  we  needed  some 
powerful  instrument. 

"Do  you  know  of  any  big  beam  over  there,  some 
tree  that  has  been  cut  down  and  had  its  branches 
removed?" 

"At  I'Herm,  in  the  village,"  said  some  of  the  men, 


310  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

"old  Bertillou  is  having  a  barn  built;  there  are  some 
strong  beams  over  there." 

"That's  just  what  we  want.  Thirty  of  the  strongest 
men,  with  their  handkerchiefs  rolled  and  knotted  to- 
gether, will  carry  the  beam,  two  by  two,  fifteen  on 
each  side.  When  they  are  in  the  court,  they  will  run 
at  full  speed  against  the  gate  of  the  chateau,  and  will 
dash  against  it  the  end  of  the  beam,  which  ought  to 
project  a  little  in  front  of  the  foremost  men.  As 
the  gate  will  certainly  not  fall  at  the  first  blow,  they 
will  then  draw  back  to  make  room,  and  will  repeat 
the  act.  During  this  time,  fivQ  or  six  of  those  who 
have  guns  will  watch  the  loop-holes  that  protect  the 
entrance  and  fire  at  them  when  they  see  the  muzzle 
of  a  gun.  At  the  same  time,  twenty  men,  who  will 
have  taken  all  the  ladders  from  the  haylofts,  on  their 
way  through  the  village,  will  cross  the  moat,  and 
cHmb  quickly  in  at  the  windows  to  divide  those  on 
the  inside.  Meanwhile,  a  number  of  others,  spread 
out  about  the  chateau,  will  shoot  at  the  windows  and 
make  a  great  noise.  In  this  way  the  Count  and  his 
men  will  not  know  which  way  to  turn,  and  we  shall 
have  them." 

After  all  this  had  been  carefully  explained,  I  as- 
signed each  man  to  his  post,  and  when  everything  was 
agreed  upon,  I  added: 

"Let  it  be  well  understood  that  we  shall  not  touch 
a  button  in  the  chateau.  We  are  honest  men  who  are 
avenging  ourselves,  and  not  robbers!" 

"Yes,  yes!**  exclaimed  all,  in  a  low  voice^ 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  311 

Then  I  asked: 

**What  hour  is  it  ?    You,  over  there !" 

The  old  people  raised  their  eyes  to  the  sky,  and 
noted  the  position  of  the  stars  between  the  passing 
clouds. 

*Tt  must  be  about  eleven  o'clock,"  said  some  of 
them. 

*'Let  us  start;  and  do  not  make  any  noise." 

Just  as  I  was  setting  out,  I  felt  someone  take  my 
arm,  and  turned  about. 

"Ah,  my  poor  Jean !"  I  exclaimed.  "You  promised 
to  stay  quietly  in  bed  and  let  the  young  fellows  do 
the  work." 

"Give  me  the  gun,"  he  answered,  "it  would  only 
bother  you  when  you  are  giving  orders.  I  still  have 
a  good  eye.  I  will  watch  the  loop-holes.  Let  me  help. 
It  pleases  me  to  see  this  wolf  driven  out  of  his 
lair." 

"As  you  wish,  then." 

So  I  gave  him  the  gun,  and  we  set  out. 

We  walked  in  silence.  There  was  no  sound  but 
the  dull  noise  of  a  band  of  people  tramping  over  the 
earth,  and  the  crackling  of  branches  when  we  went 
through  a  thicket.  Once  on  the  high  road  which 
comes  from  Thenon  and  passes  near  THerm,  we  went 
more  quietly,  and  the  nearer  we  got  the  more  precau- 
tions we  took.  Even  the  women,  who  are  usually 
chatterers,  did  not  utter  a  word.  Two  hundred  feet 
before  we  left  the  forest,  which  came  right  up  to  the 
village,  those  men  who  were  to  carry  the  beam  ar- 


312  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

ranged  their  handkerchiefs  and  placed  themselves  to- 
gether. Those  who  were  to  scale  the  chateau  did 
likewise.  Then  everyone  started  off  marching  again. 
The  dogs  in  the  villages  of  Prisse  and  I'Herm  had 
been  shut  up  in  the  stables  and  houses,  so  that  their 
barking  would  not  make  too  much  noise.  While  those 
who  had  been  chosen  for  the  task  went  to  get  the 
ladders  from  the  barns,  the  rest  of  us  waited.  The 
night  was  still  cloudy  and  warm.  In  the  midst  of 
the  vineyards  queerly  shaped  peach-trees  could  be 
dimly  seen  in  the  shadow.  At  the  edge  of  the  fields 
the  spreading  nut-trees  lifted  their  round  heads  to- 
wards the  gray  sky.  About  the  houses  the  hemp  fields 
spread  their  heavy  odor.  Along  a  court  a  blossoming 
alder-bush,  growing  on  an  old  wall,  shed  its  fragrance 
on  the  air;  and  nearby  in  the  silence  of  the  night  a 
nightingale  was  singing  softly.  My  heart  was  ham- 
mering now,  but  not  because  I  was  afraid  for  myself ; 
since  the  death  of  my  dear  Lina,  life  meant  nothing 
to  me,  and  I  would  have  sold  it  cheaply.  I  was 
afraid  for  all  these  brave  men  who  were  following 
me.  And  I  dreaded  lest  I  should  not  succeed,  know- 
ing well  that  if  I  did  not,  the  Count  would  make  them 
pay  dearly  for  the  damage. 

As  the  others  had  come  back,  however,  with  the 
ladders,  I  drove  these  ideas  out  of  my  head,  and 
thought  only  of  what  we  had  to  do. 

When  we  passed  in  front  of  the  house  of  Bertillou, 
those  who  had  knotted  their  handkerchiefs  took  the 
largest  beam,  and  advanced  slowly  and  silently,  keep- 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  313 

ing  in  step,  over  the  heather  that  was  rotting  in  the 
village  streets.  Then,  moving  to  the  front,  I  had  a 
nimble  boy  go  down  into  the  moat ;  and  soon  the  gate 
of  the  enclosure  was  open.  But  in  spite  of  every 
precaution,  this  could  not  be  done  without  some  noise ; 
so  that  the  great  hunting  dogs  of  the  Count  barked 
furiously  from  the  depths  of  their  kennels.  For- 
tunately, as  they  were  in  the  habit  of  barking,  the 
chateau  people  paid  no  attention  to  them. 

At  this  moment  the  beam  arrived,  moving  like  a 
monstrous  centipede,  and  entered  the  court.  At  fifteen 
paces  the  men  began  to  run,  hurling  themselves  against 
the  door,  and  giving  it  a  violent  blow  that  re-echoed 
up  the  winding  staircase;  but  the  door  did  not  yield. 
While  our  men  were  moving  backward  to  get  room  to 
repeat  the  stroke,  frightened  heads  began  to  appear  at 
the  windows  of  the  chateau,  cries  were  heard,  and 
soon  lights  began  to  move  rapidly  about  the  interior. 
At  this  moment,  a  second  blow  of  the  beam  shook 
the  door. 

"Courage,  friends!  It  is  going  to  yield!"  I  cried 
out. 

At  the  same  instant  our  men  posted  about  the 
chateau  began  to  fire,  and  those  who  had  climbed  the 
ladders  broke  in  the  windows  with  a  great  noise. 

While  the  men  who  carried  the  beam  were  drawing 
back  to  strike  the  door  again,  gun-barrels  were  passed 
through  the  loop-holes  which  defended  the  entrance, 
and  several  shots  were  fired  by  those  within  as  well 
as  by  our  men.     Then  the  women  began  to  scream. 


314  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

seeing  a  wounded  man  let  go  of  the  beamj  but  a  big 
handsome  Amazon  ran  to  take  his  place.  By  this  same 
discharge  I  felt  myself  wounded  in  the  cheek  and 
shoulder,  but  in  my  excitement  I  paid  no  attention 
to  it. 

"Go  at  it!"  I  cried.  "Strike  hard!  The  door  is 
going  to  fall  this  time!" 

Then,  with  a  vigorous  rush,  inspired  by  our  cries, 
our  men  dashed  upon  the  door,  which  yielded,  its  lock 
torn  off,  its  bars  broken,  its  hinges  twisted.  As  it 
still  held  a  little,  the  blacksmith  knocked  it  down  with 
his  heavy  hammer. 

"Forward!" 

And,  seizing  an  ax  from  a  man,  I  flung  myself  upon 
the  stairway  and  leaped  up  it  four  steps  at  a  time, 
followed  by  all  of  the  men,  some  of  them  with  lan- 
terns. I  soon  reached  the  landing  of  the  first  floor, 
where  stood  the  Count  and  his  daughters  as  well  as 
Mascret,  all  of  them  half-clad  and  hurriedly  reloading 
their  guns. 

"Ah,  brigand!"  I  cried,  rushing  at  the  Count,  with 
my  ax  raised. 

As  he  had  not  finished  reloading  his  gun,  he  took 
it  by  the  muzzle  and  tried  to  beat  me  down  with  the 
butt. 

Luckily  I  parried  it  with  my  ax,  which  fell  on  it. 
Then,  raising  it  again  with  a  furious  gesture,  and 
paying  no  heed  to  the  fierce  blows  which  Mascret  and 
the  youngest  daughter  were  raining  on  my  sides  with 
the  butts  of  their  muskets,  I  aimed  a  blow  at  the 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  315 

Count  which  should  have  split  his  head.  He  gave  a 
great  leap  backwards,  escaped  the  blow,  and  found 
himself  near  the  entrance  door  of  the  grand  hall, 
where,  fortunately  for  him,  he  was  seized,  along  with 
the  guard,  by  those  of  our  men  who  had  scaled  the 
windows  after  driving  back  the  head  huntsman  and 
the  other  servants. 

"Ah,  my  friends!  You  do  me  a  wrong!"  I  said, 
lowering  my  ax,  not  willing  to  strike  him  now  that 
he  was  unable  to  defend  himself. 

"Let  no  one  do  harm  to  anyone,"  I  added,  noticing 
that  the  Count  and  the  others  were  being  rather 
roughly  handled. 

Three  of  the  young  ladies,  seeing  that  their  father 
was  captured,  had  escaped  to  the  floor  above.  But 
the  youngest,  who  was  called  Galiote,  defended  herself 
like  a  real  little  devil  and  drove  off  with  blows  of 
her  musket  those  who  tried  to  disarm  her.  Finally, 
in  order  to  capture  her  without  wounding  her,  they 
tore  down  a  big  curtain  from  a  window  in  the  room, 
and  flung  it  over  her,  and  while  she  tried  to  disen- 
tangle herself,  they  took  away  her  gun,  making  it 
impossible  for  her  to  harm  anyone. 

After  the  Count,  Mascret,  the  head  huntsman,  and 
the  others,  had  their  hands  fastened  with  the  window- 
cords,  they  were  all  brought  down  into  the  court.  Then, 
followed  by  some  men,  I  climbed  the  stairs  to  find 
the  three  young  ladies  who,  less  brave  than  their 
youngest  sister,  had  fled.  After  forcing  several  bar- 
ricaded doors,  we  found  them  hidden  in  the  depths 


S16  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

of  a  closet,  behind  the  dresses  hanging  on  the  wall. 
Trembling  with  fear  they  flung  themselves  at  the  feet 
of  those  peasants  whom  they  had  so  many  times  ill- 
treated. 

"Have  no  fear/*  I  told  them;  "we  don't  belong  to 
the  family  of  N ansae ;  we  don't  insult  or  strike  women. 
Go  and  dress  yourselves  and  come  down  at  once." 

And  I  went  down  myself.  In  the  dark  court,  lighted 
only  by  a  few  lanterns  carried  by  some  peasants  was 
the  Count,  his  hands  tied,  wearing  merely  his  trousers 
and  his  shirt,  which  was  quite  in  tatters.  Near  him 
cowered  all  the  people  of  the  chateau,  surrounded  by 
the  villagers,  men  and  women,  who  reproached  them 
for  their  evil  deeds  with  oaths  and  menacing  gestures. 
Some  were  even  beginning  to  cry  out  that  they  ought 
to  give  the  Nansacs  a  taste  of  their  own  medicine. 
The  Count  was  very  pale,  but  tried  to  keep  his  self- 
possession  before  the  "paysantaille,"  as  he  used  to  say; 
but  one  saw  all  the  same  that  he  was  in  both  rage  and 
fear,  feeling  himself  at  the  mercy  of  this  angry  crowd 
that  was  steadily  growing  larger  by  the  addition  of 
old  men  and  children  from  the  villages  who  had  been 
wakened  by  the  shots. 

As  I  arrived,  a  gray-haired  woman — the  woman 
who  had  been  the  first  to  respond  to  my  appeals  for 
vengeance  over  at  Peyre-Male,  was  pushing  the  people 
furiously  aside.  She  aimed  a  blow  at  the  Count  with 
her  stick,  which,  as  he  dodged  it,  fell  upon  his  neck. 

"You  dirty  scoundrel !  My  girl  has  been  ruined  by 
your  scamp  of  a  son;  you  shall  pay  for  him!" 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  317 

Others  joined  their  voices  to  hers,  shrieking  their 
grievances  against  the  Count  and  shaking  their  fists 
in  a  rage  under  his  nose,  while  one  of  them  already- 
had  him  by  the  throat,  and  sticks  and  pruning-bills 
were  raised  over  his  head.    It  was  time  to  intervene. 

The  blood  was  running  from  my  cheek,  and  I  felt 
the  wound  in  my  shoulder  under  my  jacket;  but  in 
spite  of  that,  I  scattered  the  crowd  and,  raising  my 
arm,  cried: 

"Stop !  .  .  .  Until  now,  good  people,  I  have  advised 
you  well,  haven't  I?  Well,  listen  to  me  once  more. 
You  have  all  been  injured  by  this  man  and  those  be- 
longing to  him;  there  are  no  rascally  tricks  he  has 
not  played  on  you.  ..." 

"Yes,  yes  r 

And  all  those  about  the  Count,  shaking  their  fists 
or  brandishing  a  weapon,  spat  his  scoundrelly  deeds 
in  his  face. 

"But  you,  Jacquou,"  a  woman  called  to  me,  "you 
have  suffered  more  than  any  of  us." 

"That's  true,  Nadale.  Because  of  this  man  my 
father  died  in  the  galleys,  my  mother  died  broken- 
hearted in  utter  poverty,  my  poor  Lina  flung  herself 
into  the  Gour,  thinking  I  had  disappeared  forever.  As 
for  me,  he  kept  me  four  days  and  four  nights  in  the 
bottom  of  an  oubliette  in  his  prison,  and  if  I  did  not 
die  slowly  of  hunger,  eaten  half  alive  by  rats,  it  is 
thanks  to  the  Chevalier  de  Galibert.  .  .  . 

"Ah,  you  deny  it,  wretch?"  I  shouted,  seeing  the 
Count  shake  his  head. 


318  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

"Go,  take  a  ladder  into  the  prison/'  I  said  to  three 
or  four  men  about  me,  *1ift  the  flagstone  and  go 
down  into  that  tomb;  you  will  find  there  the  pieces  of 
rope  with  which  he  tied  me,  and  which  with  great 
difficulty  I  wore  off  against  the  walls.  You  will  also 
see  the  rotted  bones,  falling  into  dust,  of  some  un- 
fortunate who  was  flung  there  long  ago/' 

While  these  men  went  off  to  the  prison,  I  noticed 
the  youngest  daughter  of  the  Count.  She  stood  close 
to  him,  half-dressed,  in  a  haughty  attitude.  Her  thick, 
tawny  locks  burned  like  golden  louis,  and  fell  in  a 
mass  over  her  bare  shoulders.  Her  close-pressed  lips 
expressed  disdain;  her  slightly  curled  nostrils  were 
distended  with  anger;  her  dark  blue  eyes  shot  me  a 
look  of  hatred,  sharp  as  a  sword-blade. 

But  in  those  days  my  eyes  were  not  cold  either, 
and  I  looked  at  her  fixedly,  without  winking.  She 
was  a  beautiful  girl,  eighteen  years  old,  tall,  well-made, 
bold, — who  stood  there  without  shame  or  embarrass- 
ment, half-nude  in  the  midst  of  all  that  crowd.  Not 
that  she  was  a  wanton,  for  she  was  the  only  one  of 
the  four  sisters  against  whom  no  one  said  anything. 
This  attitude  came  from  her  disdain  of  all  these 
peasants  who,  in  her  eyes,  were  not  even  men. 

I  felt  shame  for  her,  and  I  said  to  her: 

"Go  and  dress  yourself!" 

She  glared  at  me  without  answering,  her  bare  arms 
Still  crossed  on  her  breast,  and  did  not  move. 

"Take  your  young  lady  away,"  I  said  to  one  of 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  319 

the  maids,  "or  I  will  have  our  women  dress  her  at 
once." 

Then  she  made  up  her  mind  to  go,  but  if  her  eyes 
had  been  pistols  I  should  have  been  dead. 

The  men  had  returned,  however,  and  brought  the 
ends  of  the  rope  and  the  fragments  of  bones  from 
the  oubliette. 

"Now  will  you  deny  it,  wicked  Crozat?"  I  asked 
the  Count. 

He  became  even  paler,  closed  his  eyes  and  did  not 
answer. 

"We  must  hang  him,  by  God !  We  must  hang  him  Y* 
cried  some  of  the  people. 

"If  we  hang  him,"  I  cried,  "he  will  suffer  only  for 
one  short  moment;  in  two  minutes  all  will  be  over. 
We  can  do  better  than  that.  You  have  all  of  you 
seen  near  La  Vezere,  on  your  way  to  the  celebration 
of  Fonpeyrine,  the  ruins  of  the  chateau  of  Reignac, 
in  the  parish  of  Tursac.  Before  the  Revolution  a 
nobleman  lived  there  who  was  such  a  scoundrel  and 
so  dangerous  to  women  that  he  was  called  in  the  coun- 
tryside *the  goat  of  Reignac'  Well,  it  was  my  grand- 
father who  made  those  ruins,  with  the  help  of  the 
men  of  Tursac,  who  grew  tired  of  that  wretch's  evil 
deeds.  When  they  had  burned  his  chateau,  the  'goat 
of  Reignac,'  already  overwhelmed  with  debts,  crawled 
about  the  country  for  a  short  time,  and  then  died  of 
rage  and  poverty.  That  is  how  we  shall  get  rid  of 
this  one.  .  .  . 


320  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

"Since  you  agree  that  I  have  suffered  most  of  all 
from  this  man,  let  me  pass  judgment  upon  him.  The 
worst  punishment  that  can  come  to  him  is  not  death, 
but  ruin;  that  a  man  so  proud  and  haughty  should 
have  to  drag  out  a  despised  existence.  And  this  will 
surely  happen,  for  without  a  sou  he  will  have  no  more 
friends, — that  is,  unless  the  other  nobles  love  him  and 
admire  him  more  than  the  peasants  do.'' 

Here  the  Count  tried  to  laugh. 

"You  know  very  well,  Crozat,  that  they  do  not 
look  on  you  as  one  of  themselves,  that  they  remember 
your  grandfather,  the  water-carrier  of  Auvergne," 

And  I  went  on: 

"Just  as  the  men  of  Tursac  burned  Reignac,  so  we 
must  burn  THerm.  The  total  destruction  of  this 
robbers'  den  will  complete  the  ruin  of  this  pretended 
nobleman,  who  will  have  to  beg  a  scornful  pity  from 
chateau  to  chateau;  that  will  be  his  greatest  punish- 
ment. 

"Believe  me,  my  friends,  I  come  of  a  race  that 
understands  these  things.  In  the  time  of  Henry  IV, 
one  of  my  ancestors,  head  of  a  band  of  peasant  rebels, 
burned  the  chateaus  of  those  nobles  who  acted  like 
tyrants  towards  the  poor  peasants ;  and  it  is  from  him 
we  get  the  nickname  of  Croquant.  My  grandfather 
burned  Reignac,  as  I  have  just  said ;  and  I  began  thir- 
teen years  ago  by  burning  the  forest  of  THerm;  to- 
day I  am  going  to  send  this  chateau  up  in  flames!" 

"That's  right!  That's  right !" 

"Then  pile  up  fagots  everywhere  in  the  kitchen  and 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  321 

the  lower  rooms;  bring  some  brandy  kegs  and  some 
oil  tanks  from  the  cellar;  and  we  shall  have  a  fine 
bonfire.'' 

While  everyone  ran  about  this  work,  the  maid  came 
out  of  the  chateau  and  approached  me. 

"Mademoiselle  will  not  come  down." 

"I'll  go,"  I  answered.  "Come  and  show  me  where 
she  is." 

When  I  had  gone  upstairs,  I  found  the  young  girl 
dressed  and  seated  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 

"You  must  come  down!"  I  told  her.  "We  are 
going  to  burn  the  chateau!" 

She  gave  me  a  hostile  look  without  replying. 

"If  you  do  not  come  of  your  own  accord,  you  shall 
come  by  force,"  and  I  went  towards  her. 

At  this  moment  she  lifted  a  little  dagger,  and  tried 
to  strike  me,  but  I  seized  her  wrist  as  it  descended, 
and  disarmed  her. 

"Although  you  give  it  to  me  rather  under  compul- 
sion, I  shall  keep  it  for  the  present,"  I  told  her,  putting 
the  dagger  into  a  pocket  of  my  jacket.  And  at  the 
same  time,  seizing  her  about  the  waist,  I  carried  her 
off  in  spite  of  fier  resistance. 

What  a  queer  creature  man  is!  In  spite  of  all  my 
hatred  for  the  Comte  de  Nansac,  a  hatred  that  was 
reflected  on  all  those  belonging  to  him,  I  was  much 
stirred  as  I  carried  this  beautiful  creature  through  the 
rooms  and  corridors.  The  feeling  of  her  breath  on 
my  face,  and  of  the  superb  body  pressed  against  me 
but  struggling  to  escape,  sent  racing  through  my  mind 


Sn  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

some  of  those  mad,  brutal  thoughts  that  come  to 
hardened  troopers  when  they  are  taking  a  town  by 
storm.  The  sight  of  the  blood  which  fell  from  my 
cheek  on  Galiote's  forehead  completed  my  intoxica- 
tion. And  we  were  alone,  for  the  maid  had  dashed 
off  down  the  stairs,  terrified  at  the  thought  of  fire. 
I  stopped  short  while  I  was  crossing  a  corridor. 

''Keep  still!"  I  said  to  her  roughly,  plunging  my 
gaze  deep  into  her  eyes,  and  holding  her  even  more 
tightly,  while  she  tried  to  scratch  me.  She  understood 
and  did  not  stir  again.  An  instant  later  I  set  her 
on  her  feet  near  her  father. 

Then,  since  everything  was  ready,  I  took  a  lantern 
from  one  of  the  men;  but  just  as  I  was  going  through 
the  great  hall,  a  voice  cried  out : 

"But  the  chaplain!" 

Confound  it !    No  one  had  thought  of  him ! 

"Go  and  find  him,"  I  said,  "and  hurry !" 

A  few  minutes  later  the  great  Dom  Enjalbert 
reached  the  court,  dragged  by  three  or  four  men  who 
had  found  him  hidden  in  the  garret.  The  unhappy 
man  was  squealing  like  a  pig  about  to  be  bled,  and 
only  stopped  in  order  to  beg  for  mercy  in  a  pitiful 
voice. 

"Come,  keep  still,  brawler!  Don't  you  see  all  the 
others  standing  there  ?  ...  Is  no  one  left  ?  Forward, 
then!" 

And,  going  Into  the  chateau,  I  split  open  with  my 
ax  the  two  casks  of  brandy,  which  instantly  spread 
over  the  floor;  then  I  set  fire  to  them  and  went  out. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  823 

Through  the  windows,  which  we  had  opened  to  fan 
the  fire,  you  could  see  blue  flames  rising,  licking  the 
wall,  enveloping  the  furniture,  climbing  up  the  cur- 
tains, and  setting  on  fire  the  fagots  heaped  in  the 
great  hall.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  an  enormous 
pyre  flamed  up  to  the  ceiling,  and  the  fire  attacked 
the  adjacent  rooms.  The  bays  were  lighted  up  one 
after  another  as  the  fire  spread,  and  an  hour  later 
the  whole  interior  was  nothing  but  an  immense  furnace 
vomiting  torrents  of  flame  from  every  aperture  which 
licked  the  outside  walls  liks  burning  tongues.  Then 
the  fire  leaped  up  the  stairway,  reached  the  upper  floors, 
and  soon  the  old  chestnut  timberwork,  heated  by  the 
blaze,  caught  like  slivers  of  hemp  stalk.  Then  the 
slates  began  to  rain  down  into  the  court,  heated  by 
the  burning  ceilings,  and  we  had  to  draw  back. 
Finally  the  roof  fell  in  with  a  crash;  flames  leaped 
into  the  air  through  the  cross-beams,  throwing  red 
reflections  far  away  on  the  slopes,  while  at  Rouffignac 
and  at  Saint-Geyrac  the  tocsin  was  frantically  pealing. 

*'Yes,  yes!   Ring!   Ring!" 

When  the  people,  awakened  by  the  bells,  saw  it 
was  the  Chateau  de  I'Herm  that  was  burning,  they 
did  not  disturb  themselves,  but  said: 

*That  is  no  great  misfortune !" 

And  if  a  few  of  them  came,  it  was  only  out  of 
curiosity. 

Although  this  old  woodwork  was  blazing  beauti- 
fully, the  beams  and  rafters,  which  were  very  strong, 
resisted  for  a  long  time ;  but  at  length,  towards  morn- 


324  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

ing,  the  framework  gave  way,  dragging  down  the 
beams  of  the  lower  floors,  and  throwing  up  towards 
the  sky  millions  of  sparks.  Then  there  remained 
within  the  blackened  walls  only  fragments  of  charred 
wood,  burning  on  a  great  pile  of  embers. 

At  this  moment  I  heard  two  men  wrangling  behind 
me,  and,  turning,  I  saw  that  they  were  quarreling  over 
a  double-barreled  gun,  which  had  been  taken  from  the 
chateau  people. 

"If  s  not  worth  while  quarreling  over  the  bishop's 
cope,  my  friends;  you  know  what  was  agreed  upon, — 
no  one  was  to  carry  off  a  button!"  And,  taking  the 
gun,  I  went  and  flung  it  through  a  window  into  the 
flames.     Then  I  came  back. 

"Now  that  justice  is  done,  let  all  these  people  go," 
I  said,  pointing  out  the  Count  and  those  who  belonged 
to  him, — all  pale  and  shivering  in  the  fresh  morning 
air,  in  spite  of  that  great  burning  brazier,  from  which 
clouds  of  bluish  smoke  were  still  rising. 

When  they  were  untied  and  had  gone  off  in  the 
direction  of  their  nearest  farm,  I  added: 

"And  all  of  you,  remember  that  I  alone  have  set 
fire  to  the  chateau;  lay  the  blame  upon  me  for  all 
that  has  happened.  I  will  take  the  responsibility  for 
everything." 

As  I  felt  sure  that  it  would  not  be  long  before  I 
received  a  visit  from  the  gendarmes,  I  went  straight 
to  Thenon,  along  with  two  others  who  were  wounded, 
to  have  the  bullets  extracted  from  our  flesh. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  S^ 

The  next  day  at  dawn,  someone  knocked  loudly  on 
the  door.    Jean  got  up  and  went  over  to  it,  saying: 

"The  gendarmes  are  here!'* 

"Tell  them  Fm  coming." 

And  when  I  had  dressed  myself,  I  gave  him  the 
dagger  belonging  to  the  demoselle  Galiote: 

"Keep  this  weapon  for  me,  Jean,  and  farewell!" 

The  gendarmes,  having  chained  my  hands,  put  me 
between  them,  and  set  off,  first  for  Prisse,  then 
I'Herm,  sending  the  frightened  children  into  hiding 
as  they  passed.  After  they  had  assembled  everyone 
within  the  enclosure  wall  of  the  chateau,  before  the 
still  smoking  ruins,  the  justice  of  the  peace  and  the 
mayor  began  endless  interrogations.  But  it  was  no 
easy  matter.  They  had  to  drag  answers  from  people 
as  if  with  a  corkscrew,  and  even  that  did  not  get  them 
very  far;  for  these  answers  did  not  tell  them  much. 
As  for  me,  I  confessed  proudly  that  I  was  the  sole 
guilty  one,  and  that  I  had  done  it  all  myself.  But 
they  said  that  as  far  as  the  capture  of  the  chateau 
was  concerned,  that  was  impossible.  Finally,  on  the 
strength  of  the  reports  given  by  the  mayor  and  the 
accusations  of  the  Count,  the  judge  issued  orders,  and 
the  gendarmes  collected  at  random  five  or  six  peasants, 
from  among  those  reputed  to  be  bad  characters  and 
undesirable  subjects.  Then,  having  chained  us  two 
by  two,  they  led  us  away  to  Montignac. 

In  the  morning  they  roused  us  early  from  the  foul 
place  in  which  we  had  slept  on  straw,  to  take  us  to 


326  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

Sarlat.  To  the  police  magistrate  who  questioned  us, 
I  replied  as  I  had  to  the  justice  of  the  peace,  that 
I  had  done  everything,  lighted  the  fire,  and  the  rest; 
the  others,  as  had  been  agreed  upon,  blamed  it  all 
upon  me.  As  it  was  impossible,  however,  that  I  could 
have  done  it  all  alone,  the  magistrate  determined  to 
make  us  confess;  but  he  had  to  deal  with  men  more 
determined  than  he.  After  that  he  left  us  in  peace 
for  a  few  days,  and  a  great  investigation  began.  All 
the  men  of  those  villages  about  THerm  were  sum- 
moned to  the  town  hall  at  Rouffignac,  where  the  public 
prosecutor,  the  police  magistrate,  and  a  clerk  of  the 
court  were  sitting,  assisted  by  several  court-attendants. 
But  they  never  blackened  their  paper  with  written  tes- 
timonies; no  one  knew  anything.  All  of  them  had 
come  when  they  heard  the  tocsin  ring,  or  saw  the 
fire;  as  to  what  had  taken  place  beforehand  no  one 
had  the  least  idea.  As  the  officers,  however,  did  not 
wish  to  return  with  an  empty  game-bag,  they  chose 
three  men  from  all  this  crowd  to  come  and  join  us 
in  the  prison  of  Sarlat. 

In  this  prison  we  were  not  too  badly  off.  The 
jailer,  who  had  the  entire  care  of  the  prisoners,  used 
to  have  his  daughter  help  him  when  he  brought  us 
our  soup.  This  daughter  was  a  tall,  pale  girl,  who 
looked  as  if  she  were  suffering  from  lung  trouble. 
She  showed  great  interest  in  us,  especially  in  me,  whom 
she  took,  I  think,  to  be  the  captain  of  some  celebrated 
band  of  robbers.  From  time  to  time  she  would  bring 
me  compresses  to  put  on  my  shoulder,  which  still 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  327 

smarted  fiercely;  and,  under  the  pretext  of  making 
sure  that  we  were  not  trying  to  escape,  she  came  ten 
times  a  day  to  the  barred  windows,  which  opened  out 
on  the  Httle  court  surrounded  by  high  walls,  where 
we  used  to  go  for  exercise.  There  she  would  tell  me 
what  people  in  the  town  were  saying  about  us.  At 
her  request  I  told  her  my  own  story,  which  interested 
her  so  much  that  one  evening  she  offered  to  let  me 
escape. 

"Poor  child,"  I  said  to  her,  *T  am  very  grateful  to 
you  for  that,  and  I  shall  never  forget  your  kind  heart ; 
but  you  may  be  sure  that  I  would  rather  cut  my  throat 
than  abandon  those  w^ho  have  followed  me.  Besides, 
your  father  would  suffer  severely  for  it;  you  know 
that." 

They  kept  us  for  more  than  a  month  and  a  half 
at  Sarlat.  At  first,  the  magistrate  sent  for  us  almost 
every  day,  to  question  us,  and  principally  to  question 
me.  The  wretch  knew  his  trade,  and  would  some- 
times ask  me  questions  that  were  double-edged,  like 
a  tripe-seller's  knife,  questions  from  which  I  had  some 
trouble  in  extricating  myself.  When  that  happened, 
I  would  act  like  a  dolt  who  understood  nothing,  in 
order  to  give  myself  time  to  think.  The  others! — 
they  knew  nothing,  had  seen  and  heard  nothing,  except 
the  bells  ringing  for  the  fire,  which  had  made  them 
come  to  I'Herm.  Finally,  seeing  that  they  would  not 
get  much  out  of  us,  the  magistrate  ended  by  leaving 
us  in  peace  and  settled  his  business  all  alone. 

Although  we  were  not  very  badly  off  there,  I  grew 


328  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

very  weary,  for,  as  the  Chevalier  used  to  say:  "There 
is  no  beautiful  prison,  and  no  ugly  love  affair;"  and 
then  I  was  impatient  to  be  tried.  I  was  pleased  there- 
fore, when  one  morning  the  jailer  woke  us  early. 

"You  are  leaving  for  Perigueux,"  he  said. 

When  we  were  ready,  he  gave  each  one  of  us  a 
piece  of  bread ;  then  the  gendarmes  came  and  fastened 
us  together,  two  by  two. 

Just  as  we  were  leaving,  the  jailer's  daughter  ran 
out  and  said  to  me: 

"May  God  protect  you!  I  shall  burn  a  candle  for 
you  all  r 

And  while  she  said  this,  she  looked  at  us  with  moist 
eyes  and  in  such  a  way  that  I  knew  she  was  saying 
this  to  me,  under  cover  of  addressing  all  of  them. 
That  touched  my  heart. 

"Many  thanks,''  I  answered  her,  "many  thanks  for 
your  kindness!" 

In  those  days  they  did  not  take  prisoners  away  in 
wagons  or  in  railways  as  they  do  now,  for  the  good 
reason  that  there  were  no  railways  and  hardly  any 
wagons,  and  what  there  were  were  never  entered  by 
poor  folk. 

There  had  been  so  much  talk  of  our  affair  in  the 
region  about  Sarlat,  at  the  markets  and  fairs  and  on 
Sundays  before  the  church  doors,  that  all  along  the 
road  those  who  saw  us  go  by  would  say: 

"There  are  the  men  who  burned  THerm." 

And  they  would  give  us  something  to  drink,  which 
we  did  not  refuse,  for  the  heat  was  great. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  329 

It  took  us  three  days  to  make  the  journey,  but  I 
must  explain  that  we  did  not  walk  quickly,  for  several 
of  us  were  wearing  the  heavy  sabots  in  which  we 
had  been  arrested.  Our  first  halting-place  was  at 
Montignac,  where  they  shut  us  up  in  the  foul  jail 
that  we  were  already  acquainted  with.  As  we  were 
arriving,  a  tall  old  man  who,  with  several  others,  was 
watching  us,  called  out  to  us : 

"Good  courage,  citizens!" 

"Thanks,"  I  answered,  "many  thanks!  We  shall  not 
lack  that!" 

Later  I  learned  that  the  old  man  was  the  Cassius 
of  whom  M.  de  Galibert  had  once  spoken.  He  was  a 
kind  man,  for  since  he  could  do  nothing  else  for  us 
he  found  means  to  pass  to  us  a  horn  of  snuff  for 
those  of  us  who  used  it. 

The  second  day  we  only  went  two  long  leagues,  as 
far  as  Thenon ;  but  the  third  day  was  hard,  especially 
for  those  who  were  dragging  their  sabots  about.  For 
it  was  a  long  stretch,  and  we  arrived  late  at  Perigueux, 
where  they  at  once  shut  us  up  in  the  prison,  which  at 
this  time  was  in  the  former  Convent  des  Augustins, 
in  the  direction  of  Tourny. 

The  next  day  the  president  of  the  assizes  came  to 
question  me,  and  asked  if  I  had  counsel. 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  answered,  "our  counsel  is  M.  Vidal- 
Fongrave." 

"Ah!  M.  Vidal-Fongrave?" 

"Yes,  sir;  he  is  defending  all  of  us." 

And  then  I  understood  from  his  astonishment  that 


330  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

our  case  impressed  him  favorably,  for  M.  Fon- 
grave,  the  "Honest  Man,"  as  he  was  called,  had  a 
reputation  for  not  defending  unjust  causes. 

I  had  written  him  from  Sarlat,  begging  him  to 
defend  us,  and  I  had  told  him  in  detail  what  had 
happened.  Since  we  had  arrived  at  Perigueux  he  had 
often  come  to  the  prison  and  seen  us  all,  especially 
me,  so  as  to  understand  the  whole  affair  thoroughly. 
I  remember  one  day  when  I  had  explained  my  plan 
to  him,  and  told  him  how  I  had  set  to  work  to  break 
into  the  chateau,  he  had  said  to  me  familiarly,  since 
he  had  seen  me  when  I  was  little: 

"You  ought  to  have  been  a  soldier;  you  have  the 
hand  of  that  trade." 

"On  my  word,  M.  Fongrave,  I  drew  a  good  number, 
and  I  had  no  wish  to  enlist;  I  love  my  liberty  too 
well." 

Afterwards,  in  talking  over  our  defense,  he  told 
me  that  a  great  number  of  people  from  I'Herm  and 
the  neighboring  villages  had  been  cited  as  witnesses, 
and  that  he  hoped  that  the  testimony  of  all  these  vic- 
tims of  the  Count  would  weigh  in  the  decision  of  the 
jury. 

The  day  on  which  our  trial  began  was  the  29th  of 
July,  1830.  There  was  great  excitement  in  the  law- 
courts,  and  the  lawyers  and  all  those  who  had  come 
out  of  curiosity  were  discussing  the  news  from  Paris 
which  announced  the  Revolution.  The  witnesses 
called  by  the  prosecuting  attorney  were  the  Count,  his 
daughters,  and  all  the  people  of  the  chateau.    No  other 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  331 

person  had  seen  anything.  In  a  case  that  Involves 
many  people  it  is  rare  not  to  find  some  scoundrel 
who  has  been  bribed  to  betray  the  others;  but  there 
was  nothing  of  that  sort  here.  Not  one  failed  us. 
The  Nansacs  accused  me  violently,  as  did  Dom  En- 
jalbert,  who  related  so  many  things  one  would  have 
thought  that  he  alone  knew  what  had  taken  place.  He 
made  me  so  impatient  that  I  finally  said  to  him: 

''And  how  could  you  see  all  that  when  you  were 
hidden  behind  a  chest  in  the  attic?'* 

Everyone  burst  out  laughing;  and  this  shut  him  up 
completely. 

The  three  older  girls  also  stretched  the  truth  some- 
what ;  and  this  convinced  me  that  those  who  had  been 
most  frightened  were  those  who  made  the  most  violent 
accusations  against  me.  For  the  youngest  girl  testi- 
fied nothing  but  the  truth.  As  the  president,  in  order 
to  adorn  the  case,  let  it  be  understood  that  when  I 
went  to  seek  her,  I  had  tried  to  violate  her,  she  said 
decisively  that  nothing  of  the  kind  had  happened,  that 
I  was  the  leader  of  that  band  of  brigands  who  had 
attacked  the  chateau,  that  I  alone  had  set  fire  to  it, 
that  she  regretted  very  much  having  merely  wounded 
me  with  her  bullet,  but  that  otherwise  she  had  nothing 
to  accuse  me  of. 

"However,  mademoiselle,"  replied  the  president, 
"the  accused  Ferral  had  scratches  on  his  face  and  you 
yourself  had  blood  on  yours." 

"I  may  have  scratched  him  with  my  nails  in  my 
struggles  when  he  was  carrying  me  out  of  the  chateau. 


332  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

As  for  the  blood  on  my  forehead,  it  fell  on  me  from 
the  wound  in  his  cheek." 

"Come,  mademoiselle;  perhaps  you  feel  some  quite 
natural  confusion  in  confessing  this  attempt.  But  re- 
assure yourself;  your  reputation  cannot  suffer  in  any 
possible  way.    Tell  us  frankly  the  whole  truth.** 

"I've  told  you  everything,  monsieur.  I  hate  the 
accused,  but  I  have  no  personal  grievance  against  him. 
I  must  even  add  that  without  him  my  father  would 
certainly  have  been  killed  by  the  furious  mob." 

"That's  enough;  you  may  sit  down,"  said  the  presi- 
dent, shortly. 

And  then  began  the  long  file  of  witnesses  for  the 
defense.  As  all  these  poor  people,  the  victims  of  cruel 
violence  or  of  hateful  vexations  on  the  part  of  the 
Count,  completed  the  simple  recital  of  their  wrongs, 
you  could  see  the  prosecuting  attorney's  nose  sink 
deeper  into  his  papers,  where  he  pretended  to  be  hunt- 
ing for  something;  while  the  president  tapped  softly 
and  impatiently  on  his  desk  with  a  paper  knife.  As 
for  the  jury,  they  were  visibly  impressed  in  our  favor 
by  this  hearing.  The  appearance  of  the  Chevalier  de 
Galibert  was  also  a  great  success,  first,  because  he 
excited  curiosity — for  in  the  towns  they  had  forgotten 
these  old  costumes  of  the  nobles  of  the  ancien  regime 
such  as  he  wore.  Then,  his  testimony  concerning  me 
was  so  very  favorable  that  the  public,  interested  in 
us,  murmured  approval. 

When  he  had  finished,  M.  Vidal-Fongrave  rose: 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  333 

"M.  le  president,  I  wish  to  ask  M.  le  Chevalier  de 
GaHbert  his  opinion  of  M.  le  Comte  de  Nansac." 

This  question  seemed  futile  to  me.  .  .  .  But  already 
the  Chevalier  was  answering  quickly: 

"I  feel  no  hesitation  in  explaining  myself  on  this 
point.  An  old  proverb  says, — 'You  celebrate  carnival 
time  with  your  wife,  Easter  with  your  cure;'  and  I 
will  add,  'Sunday  with  the  Comte  de  Nansac'  Who 
follows  him  is  pursued  by  trouble." 

Although  it  was  rather  lugged  in  by  the  hair,  it 
caused  laughter  and  a  good  deal  of  noise  in  the  court, 
in  spite  of  the  quick  admonitions  of  the  president. 
Then,  as  the  hour  was  late,  the  case  was  put  off  until 
the  next  day  for  the  prosecutor's  speech,  and  for  the 
speech  of  M.  Fongrave,  who  was  defending  us  all. 

The  next  day  we  learned  that  in  Paris  the  people 
had  overcome  the  Swiss  and  the  Royal  Guards,  and 
that  Charles  X  was  in  flight.  This  news  rather  put 
the  officers  of  justice  out  of  countenance;  for  they  had 
expected  something  quite  different.  It  did  not,  how- 
ever, prevent  the  prosecutor  from  bitterly  demanding 
my  head.  He  was  not  at  all  the  sort  of  man  who 
rises  above  men  and  things,  who  weighs  circumstances, 
scrutinizes  motives,  takes  account  of  events,  and  de- 
mands the  punishment  which  seems  fair  and  just  to 
his  own  conscience.  No ;  his  business  was  to  have  me 
guillotined,  and  he  did  all  in  his  power  to  bring  it 
about.  He  assured  them  all  that  crime  was  in  my 
blood ;  witness  that  ancestor  of  mine,  hanged  long  ago, 


334  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

for  revolt  and  arson  to  whom  I  owed  the  offensive 
nickname  of  Croquant.  From  him  he  passed  on  to 
my  grandfather,  imprisoned  on  the  eve  of  the  Revolu- 
tion for  having  burned  the  chateau  of  Reignac;  then 
he  came  to  my  father,  the  murderer  of  Laborie,  who 
had  died  in  the  convict-ship  and  finally,  reaching  me, 
he  said  I  had  surpassed  my  ancestors  in  precocious 
wickedness,  since  before  burning  I'Herm,  I  had 
burned  the  Count's  forest,  when  I  was  only  eight  years 
old.  At  last,  after  assuring  them  that  hatred  of  the 
rich  had  been  the  only  motive  back  of  my  crime,  he 
passed  on  to  the  other  accused  men.  He  did  not  deny 
that  for  them  there  were  extenuating  circumstances, 
and  he  would  be  contented  with  their  condemnation  to 
the  galleys  for  life.  But  as  for  me,  who  had  conceived, 
plotted  and  executed  the  crime,  as  was  shown  from 
my  own  confession,  my  head  must  fall.  And  as  he 
said  this,  he  seemed,  with  a  gesture  of  his  lean  hand, 
to  be  cutting  it  off  himself. 

To  all  this  I  listened  with  a  wandering  mind,  and 
without  being  very  greatly  moved.  My  thoughts  were 
elsewhere.  Once  more  I  saw  my  poor  father  seated 
on  this  very  bench  where  I  was  sitting ;  and  my  mother, 
dying  in  her  wretched  sickbed  in  all  the  agony  of 
despair.  I  thought  of  my  dear  Lina  lying  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  unfathomable  Gour.  And  as  I  gave  myself 
over  to  these  melancholy  thoughts,  I  told  myself  that 
since  I  had  now  avenged  those  I  loved,  my  task  was 
done.    Death  had  no  terrors  for  me.  .  .  . 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  335 

"Maitre  Fongrave,  you  have  the  floor,"  said  the 
president. 

Then  our  counsel  rose  to  his  feet,  placed  his  cap 
before  him  and  in  a  grave  deep  voice  began  his  plea, 
which  was  reproduced  entirely  the  next  day  in  the 
Echo  de  Vesone  newspaper. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  Jury: 

'Tt  seems  to  me  that  I  glimpse  across  the  centuries 
some  traces  of  the  unconscious  justice  of  things.  It 
is  not,  certainly,  that  high  and  serene  justice  to  which 
humanity  aspires,  but  a  sort  of  avenging  law  of  re- 
taliation which  causes  oppression  to  engender  hatred, 
which  makes  tyranny  incite  revolt,  violence  provoke 
violence,  and  injustice — which  is  the  violation  of  law 
— finally  bring  about  justice. 

"The  case  submitted  to  you  is  only  one  episode  in 
that  long  succession  of  peasant  revolts  that  have  been 
brought  about  by  cruel  vexations,  an  unlimited  in- 
solence and  the  most  brutal  oppression. 

"All  the  guilty  ones  are  not  on  that  bench  at  my 
back,  gentlemen.  He  is  absent,  whose  criminal  actions 
brought  on  these  occurrences  for  which  the  accused 
men  are  held  to  account;  he  is  absent,  that  pretended 
gentleman,  that  haughty  grandson  of  a  villain,  who 
used  to  pick  up  unclean  gold-pieces  from  the  gutters 
of  the  rue  Quincampoix." 

"Maitre  Fongrave,"  interrupted  the  president,  "your 
retrospective  appreciations  are  pointless;  you  have  no 
need  to  hunt  out  the  origin  of  an  honorable  family's 


836  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

fortunes.  Will  you  confine  yourself  to  the  facts  of 
the  case?    Property  should  be  respected." 

"M.  le  president,  I  subscribe  heartily  to  that  doc- 
trine. ...  I  respect  the  fortune  that  is  acquired  by 
honest  and  persevering  labor ;  I  respect  also  the  prop- 
erty that  is  the  visible  fruit  of  work.  But  when  a 
fortune  is  founded  on  the  public  ruin,  when  property 
becomes  a  vast  swindle,  I  have  a  right  as  a  man  and 
a  barrister  to  brand  it  and  to  despise  it ! 

"I  have  said,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  that  the  chief 
criminal  was  that  nobleman  who  appears  in  this  cen- 
tury like  a  monstrous  anachronism." 

And  then,  taking  up  the  testimony  of  the  witnesses 
for  the  defense,  M.  Fongrave  drew  a  fearful  picture 
of  the  miseries,  vexations,  and  cruelties  endured  by 
the  peasants  who  were  neighbors  of  the  Count.  He 
painted  him  as  he  was,  proud,  hard  and  wicked,  op- 
pressing the  poor  without  pity,  crushing  them  beneath 
a  capricious  and  arbitrary  tyranny,  and  doing  it  with 
impunity,  merely  for  the  pleasure  of  doing  it,  thanks 
to  the  culpable  weakness  of  the  authorities. 

"See,"  he  cried,  "the  point  we  have  reached  forty 
years  after  the  declaration  of  the  Rights  of  Man! 
And  now,  gentlemen,  is  it  not  remarkable  that  the 
neighbors  of  the  Comte  de  Nansac  should  have  been 
not  merely  patient  but  so  long-suffering  that  they  did 
not  decide  sooner  to  say,  no?" 

Then,  passing  on  to  me  in  particular,  he  ga,ve  the 
history  of  my  miserable  life  from  my  earliest  child- 
hood, and  related  all  the  unhappiness  caused  me  by  the 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  337 

barbarous  wickedness  of  the  Count.  When  he  showed 
my  father,  wasted  with  fever,  expiring  on  a  plank- 
bed  in  the  convict-ship ;  when  he  described  my  mother, 
that  courageous  woman,  dying,  maddened  by  the  an- 
guish of  despair,  I  put  my  head  in  my  hands  for  a 
moment  and  wiped  my  wet  eyes. 

And  as  he  went  on,  showing  how  the  hatred  sown 
in  my  heart  by  the  evil  deeds  of  the  Count  had  in- 
creased and  grown  stronger  with  age,  and  the  resolu- 
tion to  avenge  my  unhappy  parents  had  become  for 
me  a  sort  of  virtue  in  the  absence  of  all  human  jus- 
tice, pity  began  to  appear  on  the  faces  of  the  jury. 
Then,  when  he  came  to  those  four  days  I  had  spent 
in  the  dungeon  of  I'Herm,  tortured  by  hunger  and 
despair,  destined  to  be  devoured  alive  by  rats,  there 
was  a  shiver  in  the  audience,  followed  by  a  dull 
murmur. 

''How  was  it  that  this  act  of  odious  tyranny,  which 
carries  us  back  to  the  worst  days  of  the  feudal  system, 
how  was  it  that  this  abominable  crime  remained  un- 
punished? How  is  it  that  this  guilty  man  has  not 
been  seized  and  punished, — this  man  who  perpetuates 
in  this  century  the  most  criminal  violence  of  the  worst 
country  nobles  of  a  past  age? 

"Ah,  you  should  not  be  astonished,  gentlemen,  when 
justice  and  humanity  are  violated  and  outraged  like 
this  with  impunity,  that  a  popular  verdict  should  be 
formed  and  summarily  judge  the  guilty.  It  is  for- 
tunate when,  as  in  this  case,  it  limits  itself  to  material 
reprisals.    If  we  consult  history  we  see  that  right  up 


338  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

to  the  Revolution,  which  was  their  synthesis,  all  the 
popular  uprisings,  Bagaudes,  Pastoureaux,  Jacques, 
Gauthiers,  Croquants  .  .  .  have  been  caused  by  the 
cruel  tyranny  of  those  in  power.  ..." 

"Come  to  the  point,  Maitre  Fongrave,"  said  the 
president,  who  from  the  beginning  of  this  plea  had 
been  moving  feverishly  in  his  seat. 

"I  have  reached  it,  M.  le  president.  My  point  is 
the  flood  of  the  popular  movement  which  in  these  three 
days  of  tempest  has  submerged  the  throne  of  Charles 
X,  at  this  moment  on  the  road  to  exile.  ..." 

At  this  reply,  given  in  a  loud  voice,  applause  burst 
from  the  audience,  in  spite  of  the  president's  threats. 
After  silence  had  been  re-established,  M.  Fongrave 
continued: 

"Gentlemen,  I  will  close.  Like  all  those  rebels — 
I  could  count  many  more — like  all  those  nameless  men 
of  history  who  have  themselves  tried  in  vain  for  cen- 
turies to  raise  the  burden  that  was  crushing  them,  or, 
to  speak  more  truly,  the  tombstone  that  covered  them, 
— I  say,  just  as  all  these  unfortunate  men  have  been 
absolved  by  posterity,  so  ought  these  men  present  to 
be  acquitted  by  you.  What  they  have  done,  their 
ancestors  did  also.  Driven  to  extremities  by  insolent 
brutality,  gratuitous  cruelty,  and  by  the  humiliating 
violation  of  their  dignity  as  men,  they  have  revolted. 
Since  the  law  did  not  exist  for  them,  since  those  who 
ought  to  protect  them  against  such  arbitrary  annoy- 
ances, such  nameless  acts  of  violence,  have  abandoned 
them ,  since  they  have  been  excluded,  so  to  speak,  from 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  339 

law  and  justice,  I  say  it  quite  frankly,  they  are  ex- 
cusable,— I  should  almost  say,  innocent.  They,  poor 
souls,  timid  and  oppressed,  have  wished  to  be  rein- 
stated in  their  natural  rights,  and  from  beasts,  so  to 
speak,  to  become  men.  Who  would  dare  to  condemn 
them?  Certainly  not  in  the  land  of  La  Boetie  will 
there  be  found  twelve  citizens  who  will  so  insult  hu- 
manity. 

''Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  I  place  the  fate  of  these 
accused  men  in  your  hands  with  confidence,  certain 
that  at  this  moment  when  the  people  at  the  capital  have 
driven  away  those  who  wished  to  confiscate  all  our 
liberties,  you  will  return  them  to  their  families.  Ferral 
and  his  companions  have  done  on  a  small  scale  what 
the  Parisians  have  done  on  a  large  one;  in  default 
of  the  law,  they  have  called  force  to  the  service  of 
justice.  Acquit  them,  gentlemen.  The  Revolution, 
triumphant  at  Paris,  cannot  be  condemned  here.  Ac- 
quit them,  and  you  will  crown  the  desires  of  your 
fellow-citizens  who  will  bless  you  for  having  passed 
judgment  not  as  cold  jurists,  but  as  men  of  heart  whom 
nothing  that  concerns  humanity  can  leave  indifferent." 

And  M.  Fongrave  sat  down  amid  cheers. 

The  public  prosecutor  was  so  confounded  by  the 
effect  of  this  plea,  which  was  clearly  shown  in  the 
faces  of  the  jury,  that  he  judged  it  useless  to  reply. 
As  for  the  president,  he  tried  in  vain,  in  his  summing 
up,  to  efface  the  impression  by  elaborating  the  prose- 
cutor's arguments,  and  making  light  of  those  of  our 
counsel.    But  nothing  came  of  it.    After  half  an  hour 


340  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

of  deliberation,  the  jury  returned  with  a  verdict  of 
acquittal  for  all  the  accused. 

When  we  went  out,  we  found  quite  a  crowd  await- 
ing us,  curious  to  see  us  nearby,  such  silly  idlers  are 
the  city  folk.  I  believe  I  have  already  said  this,  but 
then  one  has  occasion  to  say  it  often.  When  I  saw 
all  these  curious  souls,  elbowing  each  other  and  saying: 
"There  they  are !  There  they  are !"  I  thought  to  my- 
self,— "There  would  have  been  even  more  of  you  if 
they  were  going  to  cut  our  throats !"  But  I  said  noth- 
ing, so  as  not  to  spoil  the  joy  of  the  rest,  who  had 
been  afraid  of  never  seeing  their  homes  again. 

We  all  found  lodgings  in  that  little  inn  in  the  rue 
de  la  Misericorde  where  we  had  stayed,  my  mother 
and  I,  during  my  father's  trial.  There  were  not  enough 
beds  for  all,  but  at  that  time  it  was  the  usual  thing 
on  journeys,  especially  among  poor  people,  to  sleep 
two  or  three  together ;  which  we  did.  The  next  morn- 
ing we  all  went  together  to  thank  M.  Fongrave,  and 
to  ask  him  how  much  we  owed  him. 

"Oh!''  he  exclaimed,  knowing  well  that  we  were 
poor,  "it  is  nothing,  my  friends.  I  am  sufficiently  paid 
for  my  trouble  by  the  pleasure  of  having  helped  to 
extricate  you  from  a  bad  situation.  Go  back  to  your 
homes  in  peace." 

And  after  we  had  all  shaken  hands  with  him,  and 
repeated  our  thanks,  assuring  him  of  our  gratitude, 
we  left  him 

Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  mention  it,  but  indeed  it  was 
not  to  ungrateful  people  that  he  had  done  a  service; 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  341 

for  as  long  as  he  lived  we  all  showed  him  that  we 
had  not  forgotten  his  goodness.  It  would  be  a  pair 
of  chickens  or  capons  from  one,  or  a  basket  of  fine 
fruit,  or  a  pot  of  honey,  or  some  pigeons;  others 
would  carry  him  a  kid,  a  lamb,  a  piot,  otherwise  called 
a  turkey.  I  myself  always  paid  him  an  annual  fee 
of  a  hare,  which  I  sent  him  by  Gibert,  the  grocer  of 
Thenon,  who  went  every  year  to  the  King's  fair  to 
make  his  purchases:  not  counting  several  woodcocks, 
when  I  had  the  opportunity. 

Having  said  farewell  to  M.  Fongrave,  and  passed 
down  the  Place  du  Greffe,  we  crossed  the  Pont-Vieux, 
Barris,  and  there  we  were  on  the  highroad  to  Lyons, 
setting  off  for  the  Barade  forest,  which  we  reached 
just  at  sunset,  all  of  us  very  happy  to  see  it  again. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

When  the  first  moment  of  joy  at  finding  myself 
free  had  passed,  I  fell  into  a  deep  melancholy  as  I 
thought  of  my  poor  Lina.  As  long  as  my  life  had 
been  in  question,  I  had  let  myself  be  somewhat  dis- 
tracted from  her  memory  by  my  own  danger.  Man 
is  made  like  this,  and  I  am  sure  that  many  better 
men  than  I  would  have  acted  the  same  way.  But  now 
that  the  affair  was  over,  this  memory  came  back,  bitter 
and  painful,  like  the  smarting  of  an  old  wound. 

Sometimes  on  Sundays  I  would  go  to  Bars  to  find 
Bertrille,  to  have  the  consolation  of  talking  about  my 
dead  sweetheart.  She  was  very  obliging,  the  good  girl, 
and  talked  about  her  for  long  hours,  telling  me  all 
those  little  secrets  that  girls  confide  to  each  other 
about  their  lovers.  Although  in  one  way  it  increased 
my  pain  to  learn,  from  what  Bertrille  told  me,  how 
much  poor  Lina  loved  me,  I  was  very  happy  all  the 
same  to  hear  it,  and  I  never  grew  weary  of  questioning 
her  about  it. 

At  other  times,  my  heart  nearly  bursting,  I  would 
go  to  the  Gour  and  lying  there  under  the  shadow 
of  the  trees,  I  would  think  long  about  Lina.  I  would 
recall  in  all  its  details  our  innocent  love,  and  I  would 
call  up  to  memory  a  glance,  a  smile,  a  loving  word. 
I  seemed  to  see  us  walking  together  in  some  deeply- 

'  342 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  343 

hollowed,  unfrequented  road,  holding  hands,  our  heads 
lowered,  silent,  except  now  and  then  for  a  few  words 
which  showed  our  love,  and  made  us  raise  our  heads 
to  look  deeper  into  each  other's  eyes. 

And  when  I  had  exhausted  my  happy  memories,  I 
would  think  of  the  martyrdoms  that  the  poor  girl 
had  suffered  in  her  home,  and  anger  would  blaze  up 
in  me.  I  would  imagine  her  running  to  Maurezies  to 
ask  me  to  help  her  against  her  wretched  mother  and, 
full  of  despair  when  she  learned  of  my  disappearance, 
coming  to  drown  herself  in  the  Gour.  I  saw  the  very 
spot  where  they  had  found  her  sabots,  and  in  my  grief, 
I  hid  my  face  in  the  grass  and  cried  aloud  like  a 
wild  animal. 

Now  everything  was  ended;  she  was  at  the  bottom 
of  this  abyss,  lying  in  some  corner  of  those  grottoes 
in  the  subterranean  waters,  and  that  charming  body, 
losing  all  human  form,  was  falling  into  decomposition, 
to  leave  on  the  fine  sands  only  a  skeleton,  destined 
perhaps,  some  thousands  of  years  later,  after  some 
cataclysm,  to  establish  the  new  system  of  a  future 
scholar. 

Oh!  her  mother,  that  old  Mathive  who  had  driven 
her  to  despair!  How  I  hated  her!  Fortunately  her 
fine  Guilhem  was  seeing  to  it  that  she  suffered  as 
she  had  made  Lina  suffer.  It  was  only  two  or  three 
months  after  Lina  was  no  more,  and  when  Geral  had 
been  dead  a  year,  that  these  two  scoundrels  married. 
The  blackguard  had  forced  the  silly  old  woman  to 
give  him  all  her  property  in  the  marriage  contract, 


344  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

and  now  that  he  was  the  master  he  showed  it,  by 
God !  Work  was  not  for  him !  He  went  about  every- 
where to  the  markets,  the  fairs,  the  merrymakings, 
drinking,  playing  cards,  going  off  on  sprees  with  the 
pretty  street-singers,  and  only  came  home  to  rest. 
Then,  if  she  tried  to  complain,  he  would  treat  her 
like  the  commonest  street-walker,  use  her  roughly,  and 
finally  beat  her.  And  after  she  had  been  well  shaken 
up,  like  a  pea  in  a  pot,  when  night  came  and  the 
man  had  drunk  and  eaten  heavily,  this  woman  who 
still  whinnied  around  this  robust  male  would  make 
up  to  him,  and  would  have  been  willing,  so  to  speak, 
to  embrace  his  feet.  But  he  would  drive  her  to  the 
door  with  kicks:  "Off  to  your  straw,  old  dog!"  and 
then  he  would  pull  the  bolt.  Oh,  the  punishment  of 
this  wicked  mother  was  well  on  its  way! 

During  the  week  I  was  necessarily  somewhat  dis- 
tracted from  my  sorrow  by  work,  but  from  time  to 
time  the  memory  of  my  poor  Lina  would  come  to  me 
suddenly  like  the  stab  of  a  knife.  It  was  quite  neces- 
sary for  me  to  earn  some  money,  for  the  little  that 
old  Jean  had  laid  by  would  not  have  supported  us 
both.  But  if  he  had  had  a  hundred  times  as  much, 
I  would  not  have  wished  to  live  as  a  shirker  at  his 
expense.  So  I  had  taken  up  my  usual  way  of  living, 
cultivating  his  property,  working  out  by  the  day  here 
and  there,  and  selling  a  few  hares  or  a  couple  of 
partridges  on  Tuesdays  at  Thenon.  Then  when  winter 
came,  I  took  a  job  of  wood-cutting  in  a  part  of  the 
forest  over  towards  Las  Motras.    This  was  the  occupa- 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  845 

tion  that  suited  me  best,  for  I  was  quite  alone.  In 
the  morning  I  would  set  out,  carrying  in  my  haver- 
sack a  piece  of  black  bread  with  a  small  goat's  cheese, 
hard  as  a  stone,  an  onion  and  a  pint  of  a  beverage 
I  had  made  from  herbs.  I  would  walk  down  the  paths, 
slow  as  a  mule,  breaking  the  ice  under  my  sabots,  or 
bringing  the  powdery  snow  down  over  me  from  the 
big  gorse  or  the  tall  bracken,  when  I  crossed  the 
thickets  to  make  a  short  cut.  The  whole  day  long, 
alone  in  the  forest,  I  would  cut  wood.  Stopping  at 
times  in  moments  of  recollection  and  leaning  on  my 
ax,  I  would  stare  fixedly  ahead  of  me,  my  eyes  fast- 
ened on  the  somber  woods,  as  if  Lina  might  come  out 
of  them.  Then,  regaining  control  of  myself,  I  would 
spit  on  my  hands  and  take  up  my  chopping  again. 
But  man  is  man:  when  the  death  of  the  girl  whom  he 
has  expected  to  cherish  all  his  life  long  and  to  love 
to  his  last  day  has  torn  out  half  of  his  heart,  he 
honestly  believes  he  will  not  survive  the  loss,  he  be- 
lieves that  her  disappearance  is  an  irreparable  mis- 
fortune which  affects  not  only  himself  but  the  entire 
world.  In  the  long  run,  however,  seeing  that  things 
follow  their  natural  course,  that  after  winter  the  sun, 
rising  higher  in  the  heavens,  floods  the  earth  with 
warmth  and  light,  and  that  all  about  him  life  flows 
from  the  fertile  soil;  that  the  birds  make  their  nests, 
that  lovers  seek  each  other ;  he  submits  to  the  influence 
of  his  surroundings;  he,  like  nature,  finds  a  new  life 
stirring  within  him.  Little  by  little  the  grief  is  soft- 
ened; the  memory  grows  dim,  and  the  dear  image 


346  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

which  he  believed  imperishable,  which  in  the  early  days 
appeared  as  bright  as  a  newly-minted  coin,  becomes 
less  distinct,  like  the  effigy  on  an  old  gold  piece  that 
has  been  worn  by  usage. 

Thus  it  was  with  me.  With  time  my  life  grew  less 
bitter,  and  my  sorrow  lighter  to  bear.  With  time,  in 
place  of  a  sharp  grief  filled  with  revolt,  I  felt  myself 
slipping  into  a  resigned  sadness.  Not  that  I  ever  for- 
got her  who  was  my  first  and  sweetest  love,  but  if 
her  memory  was  always  dear,  it  was  also  no  longer 
so  constantly  painful. 

Since  the  burning  of  the  Chateau  de  I'Herm,  I 
had  risen  a  great  deal  in  the  estimation  of  the  neigh- 
boring peasants.  At  the  Thenon  markets  and  the 
Rouffignac  fairs,  everywhere  I  found  plenty  of  people 
who  invited  me  to  have  a  drink  if  I  had  wished  one. 
But  I  did  not  often  accept,  an  attitude  that  sometimes 
caused  me  to  be  put  down  as  proud;  but  they  were 
mistaken.  For  that  matter,  I  had  no  reason  at  all 
to  be  proud,  since  I  was  doubtless  the  humblest  of  all 
those  around  me.  But,  thanks  to  the  Cure  Bonal,  I 
had  other  ideas  and  other  tastes.  When  I  consented 
to  touch  glasses  with  them,  it  was  because  there  was 
some  service  I  could  render  them.  As  I  was  the  only 
peasant  in  the  district  who  could  read  and  write,  they 
would  come  to  me  to  write  a  letter  to  some  son  who 
had  gone  into  military  service,  or  to  draw  up  an  ac- 
count of  day  labor,  or  to  regulate  the  affairs  of  some 
farmer  when  he  left  a  farm,  instead  of  going  to  find 
the  scribe  in  Thenon  or  a  notary.    And  when  I  went 


JACQUOU  THE  REB^L  347 

through  the  villages,  everywhere  they  invited  me  in 
to  have  a  drink.  There  were  even  girls  of  property 
who  let  me  understand  that  they  would  be  glad  to 
have  me  for  a  sweetheart.  Some  of  them  were  fresh, 
pretty,  and  even  attractive  girls,  but  they  were  not 
my  poor  Lina.  What  made  me  most  welcome  to  the 
people,  however,  was  that  I  had  taken  up  their  defense, 
rid  them  of  the  Count,  and  abolished  that  den  of 
thieves.  Now  they  were  left  in  peace,  no  longer  afraid 
of  seeing  their  wheat  trampled  by  the  horses'  hoofs, 
or  their  ripe  grapes  eaten  by  the  hunting  dogs.  They 
walked  the  woods,  certain  from  now  on  that  they 
would  not  be  lashed  with  a  whip  because  they  had 
not  gotten  out  of  the  way  quickly  enough.  And  they 
went  to  fairs  as  to  their  work  in  the  fields,  confident 
that  their  wives  and  daughters  would  no  longer  be 
insulted  by  the  insolent  young  people. 

For,  since  the  burning  of  the  chateau,  the  Count 
had  disappeared,  and  all  his  family  with  him.  No 
one  knew  quite  where  he  had  gone.  The  oldest  of 
the  four  daughters  who  had  been  with  him  had  fol- 
lowed Dom  Enjalbert  as  housekeeper  when  he  was 
appointed  cure  over  by  Carlux.  The  second  had  been 
placed  as  companion  in  a  great  family,  into  which 
she  soon  brought  dissension.  The  third,  the  sharpest 
of  them  all,  had  gone  to  Paris  to  join  her  eldest  sister 
who  had  gone  to  the  bad  long  before.  As  for  the 
youngest,  the  one  I  had  carried  out  of  the  chateau 
when  it  was  set  on  fire,  she  had  established  herself 
not  far  from  I'Herm  on  a  little  farm  which  had  been 


348  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

part  of  her  dead  mother's  dowry,  and  which  the 
creditors  had  not  been  able  to  have  sold,  like  the  rest 
of  the  estate.  She  lived  there  with  the  farmer's  wife, 
who  had  been  her  wet-nurse,  sleeping  in  a  little  room 
on  a  poor  bed,  eating  soup  and  black  bread  and  chest- 
nuts like  the  others.  In  the  daytime  she  would  roam 
the  woods,  her  gun  under  her  arm,  and  accompanied 
by  her  dog.  With  her  air  of  a  wild  filly,  she  was  the 
only  one  of  the  family  who  was  worth  anything.  Like 
the  others,  she  too  was  very  proud,  but  while  her 
sisters  took  a  false  pride  in  continuing  to  lead  a  life 
of  dissipation  even  at  the  expense  of  their  liberty  or 
their  honor,  she  preferred  the  hard  existence  of  a 
peasant  to  this  life  of  subjection  or  licentiousness.  The 
others  were  so  light-headed  that  they  had  not  under- 
stood this,  so  that  when  Galiote  had  announced  her 
intention,  they  had  made  great  fun  of  her: 

*'Then  you  will  become  a  real  little  peasant  girl!" 
"You  will  lack  nothing  but  a  spindle !" 
"And  you  will  marry  Jacquou!  ..." 
"You  will  marry  Jacquou !" — this  mocking  jest  was 
told  me  in  a  burst  of  laughter  by  Galiote's  foster-sister. 
I  remembered  the  emotion  I  had  felt  on  carrying  her 
out  of  the  chateau,  and  it  left  me  thoughtful.     Cer- 
tainly I  believe  that  any  youth  of  my  age,  vigorous 
and  healthy  as  I  was,  would  have  been  troubled  as  I 
had  been  to  feel  this  beautiful  girl's  body  moving  and 
turning  in  his  arms.     So  I  was  not  surprised  at  that. 
But  how  was  it  possible  that  the  mere  memory  of 
that  moment  could  still  stir  me, — I  who  had  never 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  349 

looked  at  any  other  woman  than  Lina?  All  day  I 
tried  to  drive  this  scene  from  my  memory,  steeping 
myself  in  the  recollections  of  my  dear,  dead  love;  but 
it  was  useless.  From  time  to  time  she  would  come 
back  into  my  mind,  as  tenacious  as  a  bramble  on  which 
one  is  caught. 

"May  the  devil  fly  away  with  that  Francette,  for 
having  told  me  that  nonsense  !'*  I  thought  many  times. 

And  from  that  day  forward  it  was  impossible  for 
me  to  free  myself  from  the  disturbing  memory  of 
that  episode;  so  that  it  seemed  as  if,  to  my  great  vexa- 
tion, some  devil  had  come  to  life  in  me. 

While  I  was  in  this  state  of  mind,  out  of  sorts 
with  myself  because  of  what  seemed  to  me  a  treachery 
to  my  dead  parents  and  an  affront  to  Lina's  memory, 
old  Jean  happened  to  die,  after  four  days  of  illness; 
and  I  found  myself  alone.  His  nephew,  who  was  a 
charcoal-burner  like  himself,  came  to  live  in  the  house 
with  his  wife  and  five  children,  very  happy  over  this 
windfall.  He  was  not  a  bad  man,  but  he  was  so  very 
poor  that  this  inheritance  seemed  to  him  like  a  for- 
tune; and  he  and  his  family  were  at  once  consoled 
for  the  death  of  Uncle  Jean. 

In  my  opinion,  one  of  the  most  regrettable  things 
about  extreme  poverty  is  that  in  this  way  it  stifles 
natural  sentiment  among  relatives.  The  man  who, 
without  being  rich,  is  not  hard  pressed  by  need,  can, 
without  too  severe  an  effort,  put  family  affection  be- 
fore the  advantage  of  an  inheritance.  But  with  poor 
fellows  who,  like  Jean's  nephew,  slave  the  year  round 


350  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

and  can  hardly  secure  enough  bread  for  their  children, 
it  would  be  hard  if  the  joy  at  seeing  them  a  little 
relieved  from  poverty  should  not  make  them  forget 
the  death  of  their  relatives.  It  is  one  of  the  things 
with  which  we  peasants  are  most  often  reproached, 
but  every  day  we  see  gentlefolk  who  lack  nothing 
act  the  same  way,  although  they  are  much  less  excus- 
able. As  for  me,  I  deeply  regretted  old  Jean,  who 
had  been  kind  to  me;  and  I  helped  carry  him  to  the 
cemetery.    Then  I  set  about  leaving  my  abode. 

In  getting  together  my  things,  I  came  across 
Galiote's  little  dagger,  and  this  recalled  to  my  mind 
things  I  had  somewhat  forgotten  since  Jean  had  been 
ill.  For  one  moment  I  was  on  the  point  of  throwing 
it  to  the  devil,  but  instead  I  put  it  in  the  bottom  of 
my  haversack. 

It  did  not  take  me  long  to  make  up  my  bundle. 
I  had  two  shirts,  one  of  which  I  was  wearing;  a  pair 
of  trousers;  a  worn  jacket  and  a  blouse;  a  cap  of 
fox-skin;  a  pair  of  shoes  and  some  sabots.  In  addi- 
tion I  had  a  little  book  about  a  slave  in  ancient  Rome, 
which  the  dead  Cure  Bonal  had  given  me,  and  my  gun, 
which  had  been  found  in  a  hut,  hidden  under  some 
leaves.  That  was  all  I  owned.  In  Lina's  time  I  had 
been  anxious  to  dress  better,  so  as  to  do  her  honor; 
but  now  it  mattered  little  to  me. 

When  my  little  bundle  was  made  up,  I  whistled  to 
my  dog  and  went  off,  leaving  the  key  with  a  neighbor 
to  be  given  to  Jean's  new  nephew,  who  had  gone  to 
get  some  of  his  furniture.     I  had  left  deliberately, 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  S51 

but  when  I  had  gone  a  little  distance  I  stopped,  wonder- 
ing where  I  should  go.  As  I  have  said,  there  were 
many  people  who  seemed  glad  to  see  me,  and  I  would 
doubtless  have  found  a  job  somewhere.  But,  although 
the  condition  of  farm  laborers  among  the  peasants, 
where  you  worked  and  ate  with  them,  had  nothing 
unpleasant  about  it,  still  I  loved  my  liberty  too  well 
to  hire  myself  out.  Perhaps  if  I  had  taken  such  a 
position  I  could  have  married,  like  Jacob,  without  serv- 
ing seven  years. 

There  was  a  peasant  girl  at  Bessedes  who  looked 
on  me  with  favor.  Her  mother,  who  was  a  widow, 
had  need  of  a  son-in-law  to  cultivate  their  farm,  and 
since  I  had  several  times  worked  there  by  the  day, 
both  women  had  given  me  to  understand  that  I  would 
suit  them  for  a  son-in-law  and  a  husband.  But  I 
desired  neither  the  girl  nor  the  property,  although  the 
whole  thing  was  worth  something.  So  I  received  the 
friendly  words  of  the  daughter  and  the  advances  of 
the  mother  with  coldness. 

No;  there  was  no  longer  any  question  of  that.  But 
where  should  I  go?  By  dint  of  much  thinking,  I 
remembered  an  old  building  situated  between  Las 
Saurias  and  Cros-de-Mortier,  which  had  formerly 
served  as  a  temporary  shelter  for  the  forest  wardens 
of  the  nobles,  but  which  had  been  abandoned  for  sev- 
eral years.  Its  last  lodger  had  been  a  brigand  who 
had  settled  himself  and  lived  there  for  some  time, 
until  the  moment  when  he  had  been  caught  and  sent 
to  the  galleys  for  the  rest  of  his  days.     This  hovel, 


S52  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

called  '!?iux  Ages,  and  the  woods  about  it,  belonged  to 
a  land-owner  of  Bonneval,  whom  I  went  to  see  on 
the  spot.  As  he  was  a  good  man,  we  came  to  an 
agreement  at  once.  It  was  settled  that  I  should  lodge 
there  free  of  charge,  on  consideration  that  every  year, 
at  the  festival  of  the  patron  saint  of  Fossemagne, 
which  fell  on  the  21st  of  October,  I  should  carry  him 
a  hare  and  two  partridges  as  rent.  The  matter  set- 
tled, I  went  straight  to  the  hut.  To  tell  the  truth, 
Jean's  house  was  rich  and  substantial  in  comparison 
with  this  one,  and  I  began  to  laugh  as  I  repeated  a 
saying  of  the  Chevalier: — "That  would  be  a  fine  house 
if  it  had  some  sparrow-pots!" 

There  was  nothing  but  four  walls  and  the  tiled 
roof,  in  bad  condition.  The  hearth  was  crudely  built 
of  rough  stones.  The  only  opening  was  a  low  door 
which  closed  with  a  latch.  The  floor  was  bare  earth, 
now  grassgrown,  since  the  place  was  uninhabited.  The 
first  night  I  slept  on  bracken  which  I  heaped  up  In  a 
corner,  but  the  next  day,  having  secured  some  planks 
and  pegs,  I  made  a  sort  of  bed,  like  a  great  chest, 
and  put  up  a  similar  sort  of  table.  Two  squared  stumps 
at  either  end  of  a  tree  trunk  served  me  as  a  bench; 
and  there  I  was  among  my  belongings,  as  they  say. 
After  that,  I  had  to  buy  a  pot,  a  wooden  bucket,  a 
soup  dish,  and  a  spoon.  Fortunately,  at  the  time  of 
Jean's  death,  I  had  collected  a  few  sous,  which  now 
were  of  good  service  to  me. 

The  spot  was  very  wild,  but  by  no  means  displeas- 
ing to  me,  though  I  imagine  a  person  from  Perigueux 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  853 

would  not  easily  have  grown  accustomed  to  it.  About 
the  house  there  were  five  or  six  large  chestnut  trees 
that  gave  shade,  and  under  them  grew  a  little  grass, 
short  and  thick  as  velvet;  out  of  the  grass  grew  here 
and  there  ferns,  or  clusters  of  that  flower  which  is 
called  golden  button,  or,  in  patois,  paoutolonho,  be- 
cause the  leaves  resemble  the  print  of  a  wolf's  foot. 
Close  to  the  house  was  a  little  garden,  with  crumbling 
walls,  full  of  wild  grasses,  brambles,  bushes  and  wild 
roses  that  had  entirely  smothered  a  prune  tree,  on 
which  was  growing  a  wild  clematis,  often  called  the 
"beggars'  plant,"  because  tramps  who  whine  piteously 
at  the  town  gates  or  at  fairs  use  the  leaves  of  the 
juice  to  manufacture  those  artificial  wounds  which  they 
display  to  the  eyes  of  the  passersby. 

Forty  paces  beyond  the  chestnut  trees  were  the 
coppice  woods,  dense  and  vigorous,  surrounding  the 
house  on  all  sides,  so  that  you  reached  it  by  a  little 
path  already  nearly  swallowed  up  by  the  heather,  which 
stopped  at  the  house.  At  the  bottom  of  a  little  valley 
three  hundred  feet  away,  was  a  well  which  resembled 
tTie  one  at  the  tile-works.  The  water  was  not  very 
good,  but  you  had  to  make  the  best  of  it.  Good  wells 
are  rare  on  some  of  the  high  plateaus  of  Perigord. 
Ever  since  the  time  of  the  Druids  abundant  springs 
have  been  objects  of  great  veneration  in  our  country. 
There  are  many  people  who  go  to  them  from  a  great 
distance,  in  the  early  autumn,  to  drink  the  healthful 
waters.  To  certain  ones  the  women  come  to  place 
an  tgg  on  the  stones  and  ensure  good  luck  for  the 


354  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

hatching.  In  others  the  girls  throw  pins  in  order  to 
get  a  husband;  and  as  they  all  want  to  be  married, 
there  were  some  springs  where  you  could  see  thou- 
sands of  pins  at  the  bottom  of  the  water.  In  certain 
districts,  where  there  are  no  springs,  the  wells  are 
revered  in  the  same  way;  and  on  Christmas  day  the 
daughter  of  the  house  would  drop  a  bit  of  bread  into 
it,  so  that  the  water  would  not  dry  up. 

What  pleased  me  about  this  Ages  house  was  that 
it  was  all  alone  in  the  midst  of  the  forest,  quite  a 
distance  from  the  villages;  and  there  was  no  danger 
of  any  dispute  with  the  neighbors.  This  lonely  place 
accorded  well  with  my  sad  thoughts,  and  the  lonely  life 
I  had  to  lead  there  suited  my  tastes.  Besides,  I  loved 
the  forest,  in  spite  of  its  bad  reputation.  I  loved  those 
immense  masses  of  woods  that  followed  the  rises  of 
the  ground,  covering  the  land  with  a  green  mantle  in 
summer,  and  in  autumn  turning  all  colors,  according 
to  the  species  of  the  trees,  yellows,  pale  greens,  russets, 
browns,  pricked  by  the  bright  red  of  the  wild  cherry 
trees,  or  the  dark  green  of  some  scattered  clumps  of 
pine.  I  also  loved  those  grassy  valleys,  brushed  by 
the  snouts  of  the  wild  boars;  those  rocky  plateaus 
strewn  with  pink  heather  and  broom  and  golden 
flowering  gorse;  those  vast  stretches  of  tall  heather 
where  the  hunted  animal  would  take  refuge;  those 
little  clearings  on  the  top  of  a  ridge  where  the  thin 
soil  would  be  thick  with  lavender,  thyme,  everlasting, 
wild  thyme,  sweet  marjoram,  whose  perfume  rose  to 
my  nostrils  as  I  went  by  with  my  gun  on  my  shoulder, 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  355 

doubtless  rather  badly  dressed,  but  free  and  proud, 
like  the  savage  I  was. 

For  all  that,  I  had  to  leave  it,  when  I  went  out  to 
work  in  the  neighborhood,  but  I  always  came  back 
to  it  with  pleasure.  In  the  evening,  when  the  day*s 
work  was  over  and  I  had  had  supper,  I  would  return 
to  Ages,  walking  slowly  through  the  woods,  followed 
by  my  dog.  I  was  delighted  to  be  alone,  free  from 
the  subjection  of  hired  work  and  from  tiresome  chat- 
terings;  and  I  would  commune  alone  with  my 
memories. 

In  leaving  Maurezies  I  had  expected,  I  do  not  know 
why,  to  leave  behind  me  the  tormenting  thought  of 
Galiote;  but  it  was  no  use!  When  I  closed  my  eyes, 
I  seemed  to  see  her  still  in  the  court  of  the  chateau, 
her  hair  loosened,  her  shoulders  bare,  her  nostrils 
quivering,  throwing  me  a  steely  glance.  And  I  still 
seemed  to  feel  her  in  my  arms,  unconsciously  reveal- 
ing to  me,  as  she  struggled,  her  beautiful  body,  and 
furious  at  receiving  on  her  forehead  my  drops  of 
blood. 

Ah !  it  was  no  longer  the  gentle  and  profound  feel- 
ing that  attached  me  to  Lina,  this  tenderness  of  heart 
that  made  me  see  only  her  in  the  whole  world;  but 
a  furious  appetite  for  the  superb  flesh  of  this  creature. 
I  did  not  love  her;  I  hated  her,  rather;  and  never- 
theless I  was  dragged  towards  her,  and  I  raged  with 
desire  for  her. 

I  revolted  against  this  passion,  I  accused  myself  of 
baseness  in  thus  minghng  a  vitiating  desire  with  the 


356  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

hatred  which  I  had  vowed  towards  the  cursed  race 
of  Nansacs.  But  in  spite  of  everything,  I  could  not 
succeed  in  driving  from  my  mind  this  vision  which 
haunted  it. 

Ahhough  I  was  powerless  to  thrust  off  this  humiliat- 
ing obsession  I  felt  myself  still  master  of  my  will, 
and  that  reassured  me.  But  soon  I  had  a  terrible 
shock.  One  Sunday  as  I  was  hunting  in  the  forest 
between  Les  Foucaudies  and  Lac-Negre,  while  my  dog 
followed  the  trail  of  a  hare,  at  the  crossing  of  two 
paths  in  the  coppice  wood  I  met  Galiote.  She  was 
walking  briskly,  followed  by  her  dog,  with  her  gun 
on  her  shoulder,  her  air  jaunty,  her  look  assured.  She 
wore  a  duck  skirt,  closely  fitting  linen  gaiters,  a  long, 
loose  gathered  blouse  of  striped  cotton  with  a  loose 
belt,  and  a  hat  of  gray  felt  in  which  she  had  stuck 
a  jay's  feather.  The  large  strap  of  the  gamesack, 
passing  between  her  small  breasts,  showed  them  firm 
and  free  under  the  light  stuff.  I  stopped  short  on 
seeing  her,  as  if  suffocated  with  a  burning  sensation, 
and  when  she  passed,  with  her  cheeks  pink,  her  eyes 
bright,  and  a  sprig  of  sweet  marjoram  between  her 
red  lips,  I  felt  my  temples  hammering. 

She  passed  proudly,  throwing  me  a  disdainful 
glance,  and  I  stood  there  looking  quite  foolish,  with- 
out finding  one  word  to  say,  watching  her  go  on  with 
her  light  and  swinging  step. 

This  meeting  made  my  situation  worse.  I  was  like 
a  man  with  a  thorn  deep  in  his  flesh,  which  at  each 
movement  pricks  him  painfully.    Everything  recalled 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  S57 

Galiote  to  me — a  screaming  jay,  flying  off  at  my  ap- 
proach, made  me  think  of  the  feather  in  her  hat ;  the 
odor  of  sweet  marjoram  recalled  the  sprig  she  had 
had  in  her  mouth;  in  the  paths  over  the  damp  earth 
I  would  find  the  prints  of  her  little  feet ;  finally,  silence 
and  solitude,  everything  spoke  to  me  of  her,  not 
to  mention  the  boiling  blood  of  my  youth.  In  spite 
of  this,  I  still  resisted,  and  I  even  had  the  strength 
of  mind  not  to  hunt  in  the  neighborhood  of  I'Herm, 
so  as  not  to  meet  her  again.  But  when  the  devil  takes 
a  hand  in  things,  as  they  say,  you  are  caught  in  un- 
expected quarters. 

One  Tuesday,  at  vesper  time,  I  was  coming  back 
from  Thenon  where  I  had  been  to  sell  a  hare  and 
a  couple  of  rabbits,  and  was  walking  quickly,  for  the 
weather  was  threatening.  The  air  was  heavy  and 
stifling;  the  wild  broom  bushes,  warmed  by  the  sun, 
were  sending  out  their  strong  perfume;  peals  of 
thunder  were  following  each  other  between  long  flashes 
of  lightning  that  rent  the  sky.  A  burning  wind  drove 
along  the  black  clouds,  touched  with  red,  bent  the 
coppice  wood,  and  made  the  tall  tree-tops  sway  in  the 
air.  The  frightened  birds  were  coming  back  from 
foraging  in  the  fields  to  take  shelter  in  the  woods. 
Flies,  terrible  as  famished  fleas,  were  sticking  to  my 
face,  and  about  me  whirled  the  enraged  gadflies. 

I  shall  never  get  there  in  time,  I  thought,  looking 
at  the  sky.  And  indeed  about  four  hundred  yards 
from  Ages  great  drops  began  to  fall,  flattening  them- 
selves out  in  the  dust  of  the  path,  from  which  rose 


358  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

that  stale  odor  which  comes  from  the  earth  in  time 
of  storm.  And  then  the  rain  fell  heavy  and  straight, 
like  water  poured  from  a  pitcher;  so  that  when  I 
reached  the  house,  I  was  entirely  drenched. 

When  I  had  taken  off  my  blouse,  I  put  on  my  old 
jacket,  and  flung  on  the  hearth-stones  an  armful  of 
branches  which  I  fanned  quickly  into  flame.  While 
I  was  there  drying  my  legs,  my  dog,  who  was  watch- 
ing the  fire,  turned  about  and  began  to  growl  and 
then  to  bark.  At  the  same  time  the  door  opened  sud- 
denly, and  I  saw  Galiote. 

The  sight  was  like  a  blow  in  the  stomach,  but  she 
was  no  less  surprised  than  I.  On  seeing  me,  she  stopped 
short  on  the  doorstep.  "Come  in,  come  in  without 
fear,"  I  said,  getting  up;  "come  and  dry  yourself." 

She  closed  the  door  and  came  up  to  the  hearth. 

"I'm  not  in  the  least  afraid,"  she  said  bravely. 

"And  you're  right.  Come,  sit  there,  and  turn  to- 
wards the  fire." 

And  as  I  said  this,  I  pushed  one  of  the  stumps, 
which  served  as  a  seat,  into  the  center  before  the 
fire. 

She  put  her  gun  in  the  chimney  corner,  took  off 
her  gamebag,  set  it  on  the  table,  and  sat  down,  turn- 
ing her  back  to  the  flame.  During  this  time  my  dog 
was  sniffing  her  dog  and  making  it  welcome. 

I  should  not  confess  it,  but,  although  I  put  on  a 
bold  air,  my  heart  was  beating  violently  at  the  sight 
of  her  there.  Her  wet  blouse  clung  to  her  body,  and 
revealed  her  beautiful  figure.     She  soon  began  to  be 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  S69 

enveloped  in  a  light  mist  of  steam.  In  order  to  hide 
my  disturbance,  I  went  out  to  find  an  armful  of  dry- 
wood  which  I  flung  on  the  fire.  After  that  there 
was  a  moment  of  silence,  while  in  the  dark  cabin, 
as  full  of  steam  as  a  room  where  chestnuts  are  drying, 
there  spread  around  the  fragrant  odor  of  burning 
juniper. 

"You  don't  often  visit  these  parts?'*  I  said  to  her, 
to  break  the  embarrassing  silence. 

"This  is  the  first  time.  I  lost  my  way  following 
a  wounded  hare." 

"It's  fortunate  I  arrived  from  Thenon  in  time.  You 
would  have  caught  cold  if  you  had  stayed  drenched 
like  that." 

"Oh!"  she  said  simply,  shrugging  her  shoulders  a 
little. 

I  wanted  to  keep  silence,  but  was  unable  to. 

"Your  hat  is  dripping  all  over  you.  You  had  better 
take  it  off  and  dry  it." 

She  took  off  her  hat  and  looked  about  for  a  place 
to  lay  it.     But  there  were  no  andirons  or  anything 
else  suitable. 
,.    "Give  it  to  me;  I'll  hold  it." 

And  I  took  it  from  her,  rather  against  her  will, 
eager  to  touch  something  that  was  intimately  hers. 

When  her  hat  was  off,  her  heavy,  golden  hair, 
gathered  at  her  neck,  glowed  with  the  reflections  of 
the  firelight,  illuminating  the  somber  dwelling.  She 
was  looking  at  the  miserable  furniture,  the  plank-bed, 
filled  with  bracken,  with  its  wretched  coverlet,  at  the 


3«0  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

table  with  its  four  stakes  driven  into  the  earth,  under 
which  was  a  rusty  pot  that  served  as  a  complete 
kitchen  outfit. 

"Then  you  live  here?"  she  said,  not  wishing  to 
appear  silent. 

"Oh,  yes;  and  you  see  there's  not  too  much  in  it. 
I  sleep  in  my  sheath  like  the  King's  sword." 

She  nodded  her  head  as  if  in  approval. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  during  which  were 
to  be  heard  drops  of  rain  coming  through  some  hole 
in  the  roof  and  falling  with  a  dull,  regular  noise  on 
the  beaten  earth,  like  the  click  of  a  pendulum  marking 
the  seconds.  From  the  corner  of  the  fireplace  where 
I  was,  I  could  watch  her  without  her  seeing  me,  and 
I  admired  the  golden  locks  which  curled  at  her  neck, 
and  her  pretty  little  ear  which  wore  no  earring.  But 
feeling  that  her  back  was  dry,  she  turned  toward  the 
hearth,  stretching  out  towards  the  fire  her  little  nailed 
shoes,  and  holding  her  damp  hands  up  to  the  flame 
with  a  slight  shiver  of  pleasure. 

Then  I  tried  to  look  at  her  without  seeming  to  do 
so.  She  raised  her  blouse,  which  clung  to  her  chest 
and  arms,  and  looked  at  her  steaming  gaiters.  Ah, 
what  a  beautiful  creature !  And  what  a  strong,  healthy 
charm  rose  from  this  superb  young  body,  unspoiled  by 
feminine  fripperies.  Mad  ideas  went  through  my  head 
when  I  saw  her  there  quite  close  to  me,  at  my  mercy, 
so  to  speak.  From  her  hat,  which  I  was  holding, 
emanated  the  lovely  aroma  of  her  flesh.    I  was  as  if 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  S61 

intoxicated,  and  I  felt  my  reason  deserting  me.  Then 
I  made  an  effort  to  control  myself,  and  went  out  to 
escape  temptation,  leaving  here  there  to  finish  drying 
herself  at  her  ease.  The  storm  had  passed;  only  a 
few  far-off  rumblings  of  thunder  were  to  be  heard. 
A  pleasant  coolness  had  followed  the  previous  stifling 
heat.  About  the  house  the  shining  leaves  of  the  chest- 
nut trees  were  letting  fall  drops  of  water  that  set 
trembling  the  ferns  growing  in  their  shade. 

I  went  a  little  distance  away,  walking  slowly  in  the 
poor  path,  strewn  with  puddles.  Everything  in  the 
woods  seemed  refreshed;  the  grass  was  greener,  the 
blossoms  of  the  broom  yellower,  those  of  the  heather 
a  deeper  pink,  while  the  wild  scabieuses,  heavy  with 
water,  bent  their  heads  on  their  slender  stalks,  and 
the  stiff  leaves  of  the  dwarf  holly  fairly  glittered.  The 
sun  was  sinking  behind  the  horizon,  and  sending 
through  the  woods  its  last  rays,  which  turned  into 
diamonds  the  drops  that  trembled  on  the  tiny  spikes 
of  the  wild  oats.  A  fresh,  woody  odor  came  from 
the  wet  earth,  where  the  wild  plants  grew  profusely, 
wild  thyme,  sage,  sweet  marjoram,  and  the  subtly 
fragrant  yellow  Saint  Roch's  plant.  I  walked  about 
for  a  moment,  bare-headed,  breathing  eagerly  the  pure, 
fresh  air,  and  revolving  in  my  head  all  sorts  of  con- 
tradictory thoughts,  like  the  feeling  that  agitated  me. 
The  Ave  Maria  was  ringing  from  the  belfry  of  Fosse- 
magne,  its  sonorous  vibrations  spreading  through  the 
twilight  with  a  melancholy  harmony.    Little  by  little. 


362  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

I  felt  the  peacefulness  of  the  day's  end  steal  over  me, 
and  before  long  the  fresh  coolness  about  me  had  calmed 
me,  and  I  went  back  to  the  house. 

Before  the  hearth,  which  shone  at  the  back  of  the 
dwelling,  Galiote  was  standing. 

"Is  it  late?"  she  asked. 

"Night  is  coming,"  I  answered. 

"Then  I'll  start  on,"  she  said,  taking  her  gun. 

"I'll  set  you  on  your  path;  you  might  lose  yourself 
in  these  woods."    And  I  went  out  after  her. 

We  walked  on  in  silence,  as  I  thought  of  this  beau- 
tiful creature,  no  longer  with  the  burning  desire  I  had 
just  felt,  but  with  the  strong  resolve  to  remember  that 
there  were  unforgettable  things  between  us.  She  was 
thinking  of  I  don't  know  what.  After  walking  for 
half  an  hour  and  reaching  the  ill-famed  highway  from 
Angouleme  to  Sarlat,  we  followed  it  for  a  moment 
until  we  were  a  little  to  the  right  of  the  village  of 
Puy;  then,  entering  the  coppice,  we  crossed  the  forest 
of  I'Herm.  We  followed  narrow  paths  that  were 
sometimes  scarcely  marked,  and  sometimes  entirely 
lost.  I  walked  in  front  of  Galiote,  pushing  aside  a 
branch  of  a  wild  rose,  warning  her  of  a  puddle  of 
water;  and  when  a  young  tree,  bent  by  the  storm, 
barred  the  path,  I  would  lift  it  to  let  her  pass.  At 
the  end  of  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  the  path  emerged 
from  the  woods  into  a  field  where  we  could  see  the 
windows  of  the  farm  in  which  she  lived,  shining  faintly 
in  the  night. 

"Now  you're  home  again." 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  S6S 

"Thank  you,  Jacques,"  she  said  in  a  clear  voice, 
and,  looking  at  me  intently,  "thank  you!" 

I  looked  at  her  a  moment,  enveloping  the  whole  of 
her  in  a  burning  glance,  and  was  on  the  point  of  say- 
ing,— "I  wish  I  might  have  saved  your  life!"  but  I 
restrained  myself  to  a  mere:  "Good-bye,  mademoi- 
selle!" 

And  as  she  went  off,  I  turned  back  into  the  woods. 

On  my  return  I  went  by  way  of  the  Jarry  de  las 
Fadas,  and  when  I  was  on  the  top  of  the  hill  I  sat 
down  at  the  foot  of  the  tree.  The  moon  was  rising 
on  the  horizon,  red  as  blood,  and  was  climbing  slowly 
and  sinisterly  in  the  black  sky.  I  stared  fixedly  at 
it  for  a  long  time,  thinking  of  Galiote,  and  reproaching 
myself  for  not  having  been  more  steadfast.  I  was  full 
of  remorse  for  having  stifled  in  her  presence  the  hatred 
I  felt  for  her  and  her  family.  I  had  done  this  in  spite 
of  myself,  for  the  unexpected  sight  of  her  had  so 
startled  me  as  to  make  me  for  a  moment  forget  every- 
thing. Now  I  tried  to  find  excuses  for  myself;  how 
could  I  have  acted  differently?  Should  I  have  driven 
her  out  of  my  hut  in  weather  not  fit  for  a  dog?  No, 
that  was  not  possible.  And,  somewhat  quieted  by 
these  reflections,  I  fed  on  her  image  which  still  ap- 
peared before  my  eyes. 

Certainly  her  last  glance,  as  she  left  me,  had  no 
longer  been  that  evil  look,  sharp  as  a  sword,  which 
she  had  flung  at  me  in  the  court  of  the  chateau  on  the 
night  of  the  fire.  The  scornful  hatred  which  at  that 
time  overflowed  from  her  entire  person  had  disap- 


364  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

peared.  I  understood  then,  that  my  manner  towards 
her  this  evening  had  brought  about  this  change ;  but  it 
seemed  to  me,  when  I  recalled  her  words,  her  manner, 
the  expression  of  her  face,  that  she  had  shown  some- 
thing more  than  gratitude  for  a  service  rendered.  In 
my  folly  I  said  to  myself:  "This  girl,  proud  and  re- 
bellious against  love,  whom  the  examples  of  her  sisters 
and  the  young  fools  who  used  to  frequent  THerm 
have  not  been  able  to  spoil, — was  she  touched  by  the 
burning  passion  that  flamed  visibly  in  me,  even  while 
I  tried  to  conceal  it?"  Certainly,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  my  miserable  station  in  life,  I  should  not  have 
been  greatly  astonished.  At  this  period  I  was  a  strong 
and  handsome  young  fellow,  well  fitted  to  turn  the 
head  of  one  of  those  great  ladies  of  whom  I  had  heard, 
who  chose  their  lovers  from  an  inferior  station  of 
life  so  as  to  dominate  them  the  better.  But  in  spite 
of  the  passion  that  drove  me  towards  Galiote,  I  re- 
volted from  the  thought  of  playing  this  role  of  the 
despised  lover.  To  her  pride,  as  a  daughter  of  the 
nobility,  I  opposed  my  pride  as  a  man,  and  in  spite 
of  her  spirited,  passionate  nature,  I  felt  in  myself  the 
power  to  conquer  it  and  impose  on  it  my  masculine 
supremacy. 

While  I  was  occupied  with  these  thoughts,  agitated 
and  uncertain  of  the  real  feelings  of  Galiote,  my  dog, 
which  had  been  curled  up  at  my  feet,  raised  his  head 
and  gave  a  low  growl.  I  put  my  ear  to  the  ground 
and  heard  the  steps  of  men  coming  towards  me.  At 
once  I  grabbed  my  dog  by  the  skin  of  his  neck  and 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  865 

dragged  him  behind  the  big  oak  where  I  hid,  crouching 
against  the  tree.  About  ten  minutes  later  three  men 
arrived  from  the  top  of  the  ridge.  They  were  dressed 
in  brown  jackets,  and  wore  large  drooping  hats ;  their 
handkerchiefs,  knotted  below  their  eyes,  served  as 
masks ;  and  they  each  carried  a  large  stick  of  the  sort 
we  call,  in  patois,  bilious.  I  watched  them  pass, 
while  I  held  my  dog*s  muzzle  with  my  hand,  for  fear 
he  should  bark.  But  it  was  very  dark,  and,  dressed 
as  they  were,  I  did  not  recognize  them. 

But  it  was  not  difficult  to  see  that  they  were  robbers 
coming  back  from  some  crime,  or  going  out  to  one, 
the  sort  of  men  who  would  kill  a  shopkeeper  for  a 
comb. 

I  stayed  there  an  hour  longer ;  then  I  went  back  to- 
wards Ages,  still  thinking  of  Galiote,  walking  slowly, 
like  one  who  is  in  no  hurry  to  go  to  bed,  because  he 
knows  that  he  will  not  sleep.  I  was  within  a  gunshot 
of  the  house  when  all  at  once,  far  away  in  the  direction 
of  the  deserted  crossroads  of  the  Bordeaux-B rives 
road  and  the  Angouleme-Sarlat  highway,  I  heard  a 
loud  cry  for  help  rising  in  the  night:  "Help!"  sud- 
denly cut  off,  as  if  the  man  had  been  suddenly  seized 
by  the  throat  or  struck  down  at  a  single  blow.  The 
hair  rose  on  my  head.  "It's  some  poor  fellow  being 
murdered,"  I  thought,  and  I  set  off  running  in  that 
direction.  When  I  reached  the  crossroads  quite  out 
of  breath  and  covered  with  perspiration,  I  saw  nothing. 
I  followed  the  road  as  far  as  the  cross  of  I'Orme  cry- 
ing, "Ho!  Ho!"  to  show  I  was  coming,  if  it  was  not 


366  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

too  late.  Then  I  climbed  up  the  other  side  towards 
Jarripigier,  still  calling  from  time  to  time;  but  I  saw 
and  heard  nothing.  So,  after  I  had  looked  and  hunted 
around  for  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  I  went 
back  to  Ages  and  flung  myself  on  the  fern,  where  I 
tried  to  sleep.  But  this  terrible  cry  of  anguish  with 
the  passion  that  was  troubling  my  soul  kept  i  me  from 
closing  an  eye.  "Perhaps,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "it 
was  some  poor  devil  going  to  a  neighboring  fair  whom 
these  scoundrels  have  murdered  and  then  flung  into 
the  Gour!" 

In  those  days  there  were  a  great  many  unpunished 
crimes.  Merchants,  coming  from  a  distance,  or  ped- 
dlers going  from  one  fair  to  another,  with  their  silver  in 
their  leathern  belts,  disappeared  without  anyone's  tak- 
ing any  notice  of  it.  Only  a  long  time  afterwards 
did  the  people  of  their  district  begin  to  be  anxious, 
seeing  that  they  did  not  return.  It  was  very  difficult, 
then,  for  their  relatives  who  lived  at  a  distance  to 
know  just  where,  how  and  when  they  had  disappeared. 
It  would  have  been  as  easy  to  hunt  for  a  needle  in  a 
haystack.  It  was  all  the  more  difficult  because  the 
brigands  would  cause  their  victims  to  disappear  for- 
ever in  places  like  the  abyss  of  the  Gour,  or  the  hole 
of  Pomeissac  near  Bugue,  into  which  so  many  persons 
had  been  thrown,  after  being  murdered  on  the  nearby 
highway,  that  the  authorities  had  been  obliged  to  fill 
it  up.  .  .  . 

But  to  pass  on  from  these  crimes  of  brigandage. 
I  remained  for  some  time  foolishly  torn  between  a 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  367 

desire  to  see  Galiote  again  and  my  conscience  which 
forbade  it.  I  was  worried  and  exhausted  by  the  con- 
flict, and  I  sometimes  told  myself  that  it  would  be  better 
for  me  if  I  were  at  the  bottom  of  one  of  those  abysses 
from  which  one  does  not  return.  "Ah!"  I  said  to 
myself,  *'if  I  were  lying  for  good  and  all  by  the  side 
of  my  Lina's  bones,  everything  would  be  over.  What 
c^n  I  expect  from  life  but  wretched  poverty,  and 
broken-hearted  regrets  ?'*  For  it  was  in  vain  that  I 
was  drawn  towards  that  devil's  daughter,  that  I 
hungered  for  her  like  a  madman,  I  kept  none  the  less 
the  pure  and  very  dear  memory  of  my  first  love,  which 
the  force  of  my  present  passion  could  indeed  obscure 
in  moments  of  madness,  but  could  not  efface. 

Fortunately  these  hours  of  discouragement  were 
rare ;  I  would  be  ashamed  later,  remembering  the  les- 
sons of  the  Cure  Bonal,  who  had  told  me  often  that 
man  should  bear  his  troubles  bravely  and  that  forti- 
tude was  half  of  virtue.  I  did  not  try  to  see  again 
the  girl  who  had  seemed  to  bewitch  me,  but  all  the 
same  I  met  her  occasionally.  With  a  little  vanity  I 
might  have  believed  that  these  encounters  did  not  dis- 
please her.  We  would  exchange  a  few  words  as  we 
passed,  and  at  times  she  would  stop  for  longer  talks. 

I  would  point  out  to  her  a  hare  in  his  lair,  or  a 
flock  of  partridges,  and  that  would  please  her.  She 
had  quite  got  over  her  former  scornful  manner,  and 
seeing  that  after  all  I  was  neither  stupid  nor  entirely 
ignorant,  she  began  to  suspect  that  a  peasant  could 
be  a  man.    To  tell  the  truth,  I  think  that  my  person 


368  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

pleased  her,  for,  as  I  have  already  said,  at  this  time 
of  my  youth  I  was  tall  and  well-made:  I  had  broad 
shoulders,  black  eyes,  a  robust  neck,  thick  hair,  and 
a  short,  curly  black  beard  which  shadowed  my  brown 
cheeks,  for  I  was  not  able  to  give  two  sous  every 
week  to  the  barber  at  Thenon  to  be  shaved. 

When  we  had  been  talking  this  way  for  a  few  min- 
utes, I  would  understand  that  this  girl  who  until  now 
had  been  cold  towards  men  was  beginning  to  think 
of  love.  The  blood  of  her  race  spoke  in  her  eyes 
when  she  stared  at  me  boldly  and  looked  me  over 
from  head  to  foot  quite  without  embarrassment  as  she 
would  have  admired  a  handsome  horse.  I  understood 
that  perfectly,  and  was  slightly  mortified  over  it,  but 
as  on  my  side  it  was  the  boldness  and  beauty  of  the 
girl  that  tempted  me,  I  did  not  pay  very  much  atten- 
tion to  her  manner. 

At  these  times  while  I  looked  at  her,  I  would  be 
seized  with  a  fierce  desire  to  fling  myself  upon  her 
and  carry  her  off  to  the  depths  of  a  dense  thicket,  as 
a  wolf  carries  off  a  lamb.  It  was  perfectly  clear  to 
her  from  my  shining  eyes,  from  the  stifled  voice,  and 
from  my  whole  quivering  being ;  but  she  was  not  other- 
wise disturbed  by  it.  If  I  had  lost  control  of  myself, 
I  do  not  know  what  would  have  happened,  for  she 
was  not  one  of  those  girls  who  from  weakness  or 
kindness  of  heart  abandon  themselves  to  those  they 
love.  She  was  one  of  those  savage  females  who  de- 
fend themselves  with  teeth  and  nails  from  the  mastery 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  S69 

of  men  even  while  they  desire  it,  and  to  the  last  mo- 
ment endeavor  to  keep  the  upper  hand. 

Thus,  in  these  struggles  between  the  passion  that 
bound  me  and  my  will  which  got  command  again  when 
I  was  away  from  Galiote's  presence,  the  winter  passed. 
During  the  bad  season  I  had  no  work  in  the  fields,  but 
only  a  little  wood  to  cut,  so  that  in  order  to  live  I 
had  to  hunt  and  trap.  About  the  forests,  in  the  stony 
fields  sown  with  junipers,  I  would  lay  snares  for  the 
thrushes,  and  in  the  thickets  of  blackberry  vines  and 
dogberry  and  wild  rose  bushes  I  would  place  nets  for 
blackbirds.  In  the  walled  vineyards  where  there  are 
always  many  burrows,  I  would  put  snares  for  rabbits. 
I  used  to  catch  foxes,  martens  and  other  ill-smelling 
beasts  in  old,  abandoned  buildings,  and  at  times  by 
moonlight;  in  the  places  where  there  were  badger- 
holes  I  would  lie  in  wait  for  the  animal,  which  would 
come  and  rear  up  against  a  stalk  of  maize,  forgotten 
in  the  corner  of  a  field,  expecting  to  find  the  ear. 

When  the  weather  was  too  bad,  I  stayed  in  the 
house  and  made  mole-traps,  wooden  cages  and  whip- 
handles  with  branches  of  holly,  baskets  and  flails  and 
other  little  odds  and  ends.  Thanks  to  all  this,  I  did 
not  go  without  bread,  but  all  the  same  I  ate  more 
bread  and  onions  than  roast  chicken.  Although  I 
often  went  several  days  without  speaking  to  a  living 
soul,  I  never  grew  weary  of  it,  since  I  had  early  grown 
accustomed  to  being  alone,  and  by  nature  I  was  not 
fond  of  company.    And  besides,  in  the  foolish  state 


3^0  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

of  mind  in  which  I  was  at  that  time,  with  my  head 
full  of  Galiote,  I  had  plenty  to  occupy  me.  At  times 
I  would  look  at  the  wood-stump  on  which  she  had  sat, 
and  I  seemed  to  see  her  still  there,  stretching  out 
towards  the  fire  her  little  feet  and  pink  hands  through 
which  the  blood  showed.  At  other  times  I  raised  my 
head  and  looked  at  the  door,  which,  it  seemed  to  me, 
ought  to  open  and  let  her  in.  The  dagger  which  I 
had  taken  from  her  was  stuck  into  a  board  at  the 
head  of  my  bed,  and  at  times  I  would  handle  it,  trying 
the  point  on  one  of  my  fingers;  and  the  dark  blue  of 
the  steel  blade  would  bring  back  to  me  the  color  of  her 
eyes. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  winter,  one  fine,  sunny 
Sunday  in  March,  I  was  seized  with  a  terrible  longing 
to  see  her  again.  It  was  nearly  two  months  since  I 
had  met  her,  for  the  winter  had  been  severe,  the  snow 
had  lasted  a  long  time,  and  it  had  seemed  to  me  like 
ten  years.  I  was  moved  by  an  instinctive  feeling  which 
carried  me  towards  her  as  water  runs  downhill,  as 
flame  rises,  as  a  plant  turns  towards  the  sun.  I  took 
my  gun  and  wandered  in  the  direction  of  the  farm 
on  which  she  lived,  in  the  hope  that  by  prowling  about 
I  could  see  her  without  being  seen.  But  when  I  was 
near  La  Granval,  there  suddenly  came  to  me  the 
memory  of  the  Cure  Bonal,  and  with  it  like  a  shock 
of  revolt  the  memories  of  my  youth  and  of  my  parents 
dead  in  destitution  and  despair. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  371 

I  stopped  short,  horrified  at  this  destruction  of  my 
will.  "Miserable  fellow,"  I  cried  to  myself.  "Coward ! 
Are  you  going  to  forget  the  hatred  you  have  sworn 
against  the  cursed  race  of  the  Nansacs!  ..." 

And  in  a  burst  of  anger,  changing  my  path,  I  went 
to  the  end  of  the  avenue  of  chestnut  trees  where  we 
had  buried  the  poor  cure.  The  heaped  up  earth  had 
sunk  down,  crushing  the  coffin  of  white  wood,  so  that 
the  grave  was  scarcely  visible.  The  grass  grew  thick 
and  even  in  the  avenue,  covering  everything.  "One 
more  winter,"  I  thought,  "and  the  rains  will  have  en- 
tirely leveled  the  earth  so  that  all  trace  of  the  grave 
of  that  brave  man  will  have  completely  disappeared. 
His  memory  will  still  live  among  those  who  have 
known  him,  but  when  they  are  dead  in  their  turn, 
no  one  will  think  of  him.  Profound  oblivion  will 
cover  with  its  shadow  both  his  memory  and  his  grave. 
So  goes  everything  in  this  world." 

And  with  melancholy  thoughts  coming  into  my 
mind,  I  went  slowly  towards  the  Gour,  and  stayed 
there  a  long  time,  my  eyes  fastened  on  that  stretch 
of  water  which  rose  from  the  subterranean  depths 
where  my  poor  Lina  slept.  Then  I  was  seized  with 
a  great  desire  to  talk  of  her,  and  I  went  to  Bars  to 
find  Bertrille. 

As  I  arrived,  people  were  coming  out  from  vespers, 
and  I  placed  myself  against  the  big  oak  to  wait  for 
her.  But  I  waited  for  her  in  vain;  I  did  not  see  her. 
When  everyone  had  come  out,  I  walked  about  for 


372  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

a  moment  hoping  to  find  someone  I  knew  who  could 
tell  me  about  her,  for  I  thought  she  still  lived  at 
Puypautier. 

In  the  wretched  village  inn  they  were  singing  noisily, 
and  I  saw  Mathive's  famous  Guilhem,  "drunk  as 
Robespierre's  she-ass,"  as  they  say,  I  don't  know  why. 
Just  as  I  was  passing  in  front  of  a  little  hovel  at 
the  end  of  the  line  of  houses,  of  which  there  are  not 
many,  Bertrille  came  out,  and  seeing  me  came  towards 
me. 

"And  how  goes  it?"  I  asked  her. 

"Alas !  my  poor  Jacquou !  I  have  had  many  sorrows 
since  I  last  saw  you." 

"What  are  they,  Bertrille?" 

"My  mother  has  been  seized  with  paralysis  and  can 
no  longer  leave  her  bed;  and  then  my  poor  Arnaud 
died  over  there  in  Africa  six  months  before  his  service 
was  up." 

"Poor  Bertrille!    Indeed  I  am  sorry  for  you!" 

And  at  that  we  began  to  talk  together  of  our  griefs, 
I  speaking  to  her  about  her  lover,  and  she  to  me  about 
Lina. 

In  this  connection  she  told  me  that  that  old  hussy 
of  a  Mathive  was  utterly  wretched  with  that  scamp 
Guilhem,  who  had  taken  a  young  servant  into  the 
house,  squandered  half  of  Mathive's  property,  and 
then  beaten  her  brutally  in  addition. 

"And  so  much  the  better!"  I  cried.  "I  shall  never 
be  satisfied  until  I  see  her  with  a  beggar's  wallet  on 
her  back,  dying  by  some  roadside !  .  .  .  But  your 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  373 

mother,"  I  went  on,  "is  there  no  hope  that  she  may- 
get  well?" 

"Alas,  no;  all  the  same  you  can  see  her,"  she  said, 
opening  the  door.    And  I  went  in  after  her. 

What  utter  poverty!  The  two  poor  women  were 
lodged  in  a  hovel  for  drying  chestnuts,  where  they  had 
made  a  rough  chimney  like  that  of  a  hut  in  the  woods. 
For  furniture  there  was  a  table  against  the  wall,  with 
a  bench,  and  on  the  other  side  the  wretched  bed  in 
which  the  paralyzed  woman  lay.  One  could  scarcely 
pass  between  the  table  and  the  bed,  the  room  was 
so  small. 

"Here  is  Jacquou,  who  has  come  to  see  you, 
mother,"  said  Bertrille.  "You  know  it  is  he  who  used 
to  live  with  the  Cure  Bonal  at  La  Granval." 

The  sick  woman,  about  whom  there  seemed  nothing 
alive  but  her  eyes,  lowered  her  lids  as  if  to  say:  "Yes, 
I  know." 

When  I  had  tried  to  console  her  by  saying  that 
one  must  never  despair,  for  without  doubt  the  coming 
warm  weather  would  cure  her,  she  moved  her  eyes 
from  right  to  left  as  a  sign  that  she  did  not  believe  it. 

After  some  words  of  comfort,  I  went  out  with 
Bertrille. 

We  went  slowly  along  the  sunken  road  between  the 
thick  hedges  that  clothed  the  high  banks.  I  was 
troubled  by  a  thought  I  dared  not  confess  to  the  poor 
girl ;  I  watched  mechanically  the  dark  bushes  on  which 
there  still  remained  a  few  bluish  sloeberries,  withered 
bx  the  winter,  and  the  honeysuckle  which,  climbing 


374  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

over  the  brambles  and  the  viburnum,  hung  its  Sprays 
over  the  road.  From  time  to  time  I  broke  a  twig, 
without  stopping,  and  chewed  it,  still  silent ;  but  finally 
I  grew  ashamed  of  my  cowardice,  and  taking  courage, 
I  said: 

"Poor  Bertrille,  excuse  me  .  .  .  how  do  you  man- 
age to  live,  you  who  cannot  go  out  and  work  by  the 
day?" 

"I  spin  as  much  as  I  can." 

"And  by  this  work  you  earn  four  or  five  sous ;  you 
have  not  enough  to  keep  yourself  in  bread,  especially 
this  year  when  it  is  expensive." 

She  walked  with  lowered  head  and  did  not  answer. 

Something  pierced  my  heart  like  a  needle. 

"And  perhaps,"  I  went  on,  "you  have  none  at  this 
moment?" 

Still  she  did  not  answer.    Then  I  caught  her  hand: 

"Look  at  me,  Bertrille." 

She  raised  her  eyes  towards  mine,  full  of  tears. 

"I  have  thirty  sous  in  my  pocket;  take  them,  I  beg 
you  .  .  .  here  they  are!" 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  but  when  she  saw  my  wet 
eyes,  she  took  the  sous. 

"Thanks,  my  Jacquou!" 

"If  the  poor  didn't  help  each  other,  who'd  help 
them?  I've  no  one  in  the  world.  I  feel  as  if  you 
were  my  sister." 

She  put  the  sous  in  the  pocket  of  her  apron,  and 
we  went  back  towards  the  village. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  875 

"Listen,  Bertrille,"  I  said  to  her  before  her  door, 
"don't  worry,  and  don't  kill  yourself  sitting  up  late 
with  your  spindle  to  earn  bread;  Fm  here,  I'll  come 
back  Sunday." 

"Oh,  Jacquou!  I  don't  want  to  put  such  a  load, 
two  women,  on  your  shoulders." 

"I'm  strong  enough  to  carry  it,"  I  answered.  "Don't 
feel  any  shame  about  it;  imagine  that  I*m  your 
brother,"  I  said,  taking  her  hand. 

She  loolied  at  me  with  such  a  rush  of  feeling  that 
the  shining  glance  of  her  eyes  gave  me  a  little  shiver 
of  emotion. 

"Good-bye,"  I  said,  "until  Sunday!" 

And  I  went  off,  quite  a  different  man  from  what 
I  had  come,  pleased  with  myself,  stout-hearted,  ready 
for  anything.  The  pleasure  of  having  been  of  service 
to  these  two  poor  women,  the  resolution  I  had  taken 
to  assist  them  in  their  misfortune, — all  that  transported 
me.  It  seemed  to  me  that  from  that  time  forth  I 
would  no  longer  be  a  person  of  no  use  to  anyone; 
I  had  an  aim  in  life,  a  task  to  fulfill  which  I  had  set 
for  myself,  and  this  task  had  something  sacred  about 
it  which  raised  me  in  my  own  estimation;  all  that  did 
ixie  good.  During  the  week  I  worked  hard  without 
losing  a  day,  as  often  used  to  happen  when  I  had 
no  one  to  think  of  but  myself.  Then,  when  Sunday 
came  I  went  to  Bars. 

At  the  thought  of  what  I  was  going  to  do,  I  felt 
an  inward  satisfaction  that  had  been  unknown  to  me 


376  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

before  this,  and  I  walked  quickly,  impatient  to  relieve 
in  some  way  the  misery  of  these  two  unfortunate  crea- 
tures. 

I  found  them  still  in  the  same  situation,  the  mother 
lying  on  her  pallet,  the  daughter  with  her  spindle  by 
her  side,  still  spinning  as  if  she  would  wear  out  her 
fingers.  When  I  went  out,  after  staying  with  them 
for  a  few  moments,  Bertrille  went  with  me,  and  as 
we  walked  along,  I  gave  her  my  week's  money.  At 
that  the  poor  girl  said  to  me: 

"Oh,  Jacquou!  I  could  only  take  it  from  you;  if 
it  were  anyone  else  I  should  die  of  shame." 

"But  from  me  you  can  take  anything,  just  as  from 
your  own  brother.  I  have  already  told  you  this.  So 
accept  this  trifle  with  a  free  heart,  as  I  give  it  to 
you." 

Then,  when  she  had  accepted  the  money,  she  took 
my  arm,  and  we  walked  a  little  way  along  the  road 
without  speaking. 

After  that,  having  come  back  to  the  door,  we  looked 
at  one  another  a  moment,  pleased  with  each  other,  and 
I  said  to  her: 

"Until  Sunday,  my  Bertrille." 

"Until  Sunday,  then,  my  Jacquou." 

For  three  months  things  went  on  like  this.  The 
joy  of  finding  that  I,  humble  as  I  was,  could  act  as 
a  little  Providence  towards  Bertrille  and  her  mother, 
and  the  feeling  of  responsibility  which  I  had  assumed, 
made  a  man  of  me  and  quite  a  different  sort  of  one. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  377 

All  the  mad  thoughts,  all  the  ardent  longings,  all  the 
sharp  revolts  of  the  flesh,  which  had  formerly  agitated 
me,  were  subdued  by  the  satisfaction  of  having  done 
my  duty.  If  at  rare  intervals  some  outward  circum- 
stance would  recall  Galiote  to  me,  I  thought  of  her 
scarcely  at  all  and  with  no  disturbance  of  soul  what- 
ever. I  was  thankful  to  be  freed  from  the  feverish 
love  she  inspired  in  me,  which  overcame  my  will. 

"At  least,"  I  thought,  "if  I  must  love,  let  it  be  some 
daughter  of  the  Perigordian  soil,  a  poor  peasant  like 
myself,  and  not  a  daughter  of  that  cursed  race  of 
Nansac." 

Sometimes  I  even  met  Galiote,  although  less  often 
than  before;  but  I  no  longer  felt  in  her  presence  that 
boiling  of  the  blood,  that  rage  of  savage  desire  which 
had  formerly  maddened  me.  Girls,  even  when  like 
her  they  have  had  no  affairs  with  men,  recognize  quite 
well  the  passions  they  excite ;  so  Galiote  was  astonished 
to  see  me  now  so  calm  and  cold  beside  her.  When, 
one  day,  wishing  to  get  her  out  of  my  thoughts,  I 
gave  her  back  her  little  dagger,  she  almost  made  a 
gesture  of  resentment.  Perhaps  she  was  piqued  by 
this  change,  for  some  of  the  proudest  women,  they 
say,  take  at  times  a  secret  pleasure  in  the  naive  admira- 
tion or  crudely  expressed  desire  of  a  rustic. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  she  tried,  in  her  own  fashion, 
to  blow  upon  this  extinct  fire  in  an  effort  to  revive 
it ;  but  her  labor  was  lost.  Even  when  I  was  with  her 
I  had  the  vision  of  those  two  poor  women  over  there, 
to  whom  I  was  necessary;  and  I  was  too  entirely 


378  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

devoted  to  Bertrille  to  desire  Galiote  still.  Instead 
of  the  fury  of  the  senses,  which  had  formerly  trans- 
ported me,  I  lived  entirely  in  my  heart,  and  in  the 
presence  of  this  superb  girl  my  heart  no  longer  quick- 
ened its  beat. 

It  was  not  that  I  loved  Bertrille  as  I  had  loved 
Lina,  or  that  I  desired  her  as  I  had  desired  Galiote. 
No;  at  this  time  I  loved  her  only  as  a  brother,  as 
I  have  already  said.  I  loved  her  because  she  was  poor 
like  myself,  and  because  she  was  unhappy.  I  was 
grateful  to  her  for  having  called  to  my  mind  the  lessons 
of  the  Cure  Bonal,  for  having  reawakened  in  me  that 
brotherly  love  which  commands  men  to  help  each  other 
in  misfortune.  Near  her  my  heart  was  happy,  but 
my  senses  were  not  stirred. 

For  that  matter,  as  a  woman  she  could  not  be  com- 
pared to  either  one  or  the  other.  She  was  a  strong 
girl  of  the  race  which  springs  from  the  soil  of  our 
region,  but  with  none  of  that  beauty  which,  except 
for  types  like  Lina,  needs  for  its  development  genera- 
tions of  leisure,  an  abundance  of  material  things,  and 
a  favorable  environment.  Of  middle  height,  she  had 
none  of  those  perfections  of  figure  of  the  women  of 
ancient  days;  her  large  hips,  her  robust  bosom,  her 
strong  arms,  proclaimed  her  a  daughter  of  that  people 
on  whom  weighs  the  heavy  servitude  of  the  soil,  which 
for  centuries  and  centuries  has  struggled  and  toiled, 
lived  miserably,  made  its  homes  in  hovels,  but  has 
nevertheless  drawn  from  our  stony,  wholesome  soil, 
the  strength  to  accomplish  its  task,  labor  and  genera- 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  S79 

tion.  One  could  see  that  she  was  made  for  duty,  not 
for  pleasure. 

Her  face  was  not  regular  but  was  pleasing  for  all 
that,  from  its  look  of  great  goodness,  and  from  the 
expression  of  her  brown  eyes,  which  reflected  the  feel- 
ings of  her  brave  heart.  Such  as  she  was  I  felt  that 
each  day  I  was  becoming  more  attached  to  her,  and 
I  rejoiced  at  it.  It  seemed  very  good  to  me  now  to 
be  no  longer  alone  in  the  world,  to  have  someone  I 
was  fond  of  and  in  whom  I  could  confide. 

One  Sunday  when  I  arrived,  I  found  the  poor  girl 
in  tears.  Her  mother  was  on  her  deathbed.  An  old 
woman  who  had  come  in  out  of  pity  was  telling  her 
beads  near  the  bed,  on  which  lay  the  dying  woman. 
Never  have  I  seen  anything  sadder.  Her  face  was 
no  longer  anything  but  bones,  covered  with  a  shining 
yellow  skin  like  parchment;  her  half-opened  mouth  re- 
vealed two  long  black  teeth  in  front,  the  only  ones 
left;  her  dead  and  glassy  eyes  stared  unseeingly  in 
front  of  her;  meager  locks  of  white  hair  came  out 
from  under  the  cotton  handkerchief  on  'her  head ;  her 
thin,  bony  nose  showed  two  black  holes,  and  through 
the  skin  that  covered  the  dried  head  there  was  visible 
the  image  of  death. 

I  stayed  there  until  evening,  and  then  went  away, 
telling  Bertrille  that  I  would  come  back  the  next  day. 

When  I  arrived  the  next  morning  at  the  stroke  of 
eight,  the  old  mother  was  dead,  and  Bertrille  was 
watching  her,  seated  by  a  bed  lighted  by  a  rosin  candle. 
She  rose  and  came  towards  me,  her  eyes  red. 


380  .JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

*Toor  woman/*  I  said,  "her  sufferings  are  ended." 
Then  I  took  the  sprig  of  boxwood  that  lay  in  the 
dish  of  brown  earthenware  full  of  holy  water,  and 
sprinkled  a  few  drops  on  the  body. 

At  this  moment  the  neighbor  who  was  helping  Ber- 
trille  came  back. 

"My  girl,  the  cure  wants  eight  francs,  and  you  must 
pay  in  advance." 

"Alas!"  cried  the  poor  girl,  'T  had  only  a  three- 
franc  piece  and  I  gave  it  to  Bonnetou  for  the  coffin." 

"He  is  a  pretty  heretic,  your  cure.  But  that  does 
not  surprise  me,"  I  added,  remembering  my  poor 
mother's  burial  and  his  harshness. 

And  as  Bertrille  was  full  of  despair,  at  having  her 
mother  buried  without  prayers,  I  said  to  her: 

"Do  not  torment  yourself.  I  will  try  to  find  the 
money." 

And  leaving  hastily,  I  went  to  Ages  to  get  the  skins 
of  a  badger  and  two  foxes  which  I  had;  and  from 
there  I  went  to  Thenon  to  sell  them  to  the  merchant 
who  usually  bought  them  from  me.  By  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  I  was  back  at  Bars,  having  got  to- 
gether eight  francs  from  the  price  of  the  skins  and 
an  advance  which  the  merchant  had  made  to  me.  The 
neighbor  went  to  give  the  money  to  the  cure,  who  then 
said  that  the  burial  would  be  at  five  o'clock. 

So  at  five  o'clock,  with  the  help  of  three  other  men, 
I  carried  the  coffin  to  the  church.  It  was  not  hard 
work,  for  the  poor  woman  was  not  heavy,  and  the 
church  was  close  by. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  381 

The  cure  was  waiting  in  his  surpHce,  with  his  stole 
around  his  neck,  and  his  biretta  on  his  head.  He  had 
soon  hurried  through  the  prayers  for  the  dead,  and 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  we  were  on  the  way  to 
the  cemetery,  the  cure  in  front  with  the  sexton  carry- 
ing the  cross  and  the  holy  water  vessel,  and  behind 
the  body  Bertrille  and  a  few  other  women. 

When  everything  was  finished,  I  went  to  the  spot 
where  my  mother  was  buried.  What  can  I  say?  It 
makes  no  difference,  I  suppose,  whether  above  the  six 
feet  of  earth  that  covers  the  bones  of  a  poor  creature 
there  should  be  flowers  or  wild  grasses.  But  we  are 
easily  affected  by  what  we  see,  without  listening  to 
reason.  So  when  I  saw  this  corner,  full  of  stones 
from  the  crumbling  walls,  full  of  brambles  thick  with 
donkey-cabbage,  mallows  and  rank  nettles,  I  stayed 
there  a  moment  full  of  sorrow,  staring  fixedly  at  this 
abandoned  spot  from  which  every  trace  of  the  grave 
of  my  poor  mother  had  disappeared.  And  as  I  went 
away,  and  passed  by  a  tombstone  broken  with  age, 
weather-worn  by  rain,  sun  and  the  winter  frosts, 
crumbling,  reduced  to  rubbish,  and  ready  to  disappear, 
I  told  myself  how  vain  it  was  to  try  to  perpetuate  the 
memory  of  the  dead.  A  stone  lasts  longer  than  a 
wooden  cross,  but  time  which  destroys  everything 
destroys  that  also.  And  then  what  does  it  matter  to 
the  one  who  is  beneath?  Is  it  not  inevitable  in  the 
end  that  the  memory  of  the  dead  should  be  lost  in 
that  immense  and  boundless  sea  of  the  millions  and 
billions  of  human  beings  who  have  disappeared  since 


382  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

the  earliest  ages  ?  To  abandon  the  dead,  therefore,  to 
nature  who  covers  everything  with  her  green  mantle 
is  better  than  to  raise  those  tombs  where  the  vanity 
of  the  heirs  is  hidden  under  the  pretext  of  honoring 
the  dead. 

The  women  went  off  with  Bertrille,  and  I  went  later 
to  bid  her  good-bye,  and  to  say  that  I  would  come 
back  the  next  Sunday.  And  indeed  I  did  go  back 
that  Sunday  and  all  the  rest  after  it.  I  could  hardly 
wait  for  the  week  to  be  over  so  that  I  could  return 
to  Bars,  and  it  did  not  seem  to  me  that  I  could  go 
anywhere  else. 

Winter  came,  and  then  fine  weather  again.  The 
grass  was  growing  thickly  on  the  grave  of  the  old 
mother,  hiding  the  cross  of  leaves  which  her  daughter 
had  laid  above  her  on  the  day  of  her  burial.  I  myself 
was  continually  drawn  more  and  more  to  Bertrille.  I 
was  happy  to  see  her  and  sad  to  leave  her.  Thoughts 
of  the  future  were  occupying  me  now,  and  I  told 
myself  often  that  I  should  like  to  have  her  for  my 
wife  so  that  we  might  spend  the  days  of  our  life 
together. 

One  evening,  while  we  were  walking  on  the  road 
to  Fonroget,  I  told  her  so. 

"Oh,  Jacquou !"  she  answered,  "why  should  we  unite 
our  troubles?" 

"To  endure  them  better  together,  since  we  truly 
love  each  other." 

"If  you  wish  it,  then  I  wish  it  also." 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  888 

And  at  the  same  time  leaning  against  me,  she  lifted 
her  eyes  to  mine. 

I  saw  then  in  her  eyes  that  she  felt  as  I  did.  I  put 
my  arm  about  her  waist,  and  we  walked  for  a  long 
time  in  silence.  From  the  memory  of  our  old  dead 
loves  there  had  sprung  a  new  affection,  serious  and 
honest,  which  bound  us  together  for  life,  and,  feeling 
it,  we  were  very  happy. 

"Since  we  are  both  so  poor,  we  are  perhaps  doing 
something  foolish,  my  poor  Jacquou,"  she  said,  after 
a  moment. 

"Don't  be  afraid ;  I  am  strong  and  have  enough,  and 
I  will  work  for  us  both." 

"Yes,  but  the  children.  ..." 

"Don't  worry  about  that,"  I  said,  pressing  her  to 
me. 

"We  must  wait  for  the  end  of  my  mourning,"  she 
continued,  after  a  pause. 

"Yes,  my  Bertrille;  now  that  I  am  sure  of  you,  I 
will  wait  as  long  as  you  wish,"  and  leaning  towards 
her,  I  gave  her  the  kiss  of  betrothal. 

Then,  taking  her  home,  I  left  her,  and  went  back 
very  happy  to  Ages. 

It  was  understood  between  us  after  that,  that  we 
should  be  married  after  Christmas,  and  when  the  time 
had  come  it  was  necessary  to  speak  to  the  cure  of 
Bars.  Doubtless  he  said  to  himself,  "Since  that  girl's 
sweetheart  could  find  eight  francs  to  have  the  mother 
buried,  he  will  surely  find  ten  to  be  married."  And 
he  had  the  impudence  to  ask  them  from  Bertrille.  Ah, 


384  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

it  was  no  longer  the  good  Cure  Bonal,  who  thought 
nothing  of  money!  This  other  fellow  only  loved  his 
sheep  for  their  wool,  and  he  shaved  them  close. 

When  the  girl  told  me  that,  I  thought  for  a  moment 
to  myself,  and  then  said: 

"You  wait  and  see !  Since  he  acts  like  that,  we  shall 
fool  him." 

Then  I  went  off  to  find  the  cure  of  Fossemagne 
in  whose  parish  the  Ages  house  was,  and  I  explained 
my  business  to  him,  saying,  as  was  true,  that  we  were 
both  very  poor,  and  begging  him  to  marry  us  as 
cheaply  as  possible.  He  was  a  fine  old  man,  and  he 
began  to  laugh  when  he  heard  this  request,  and  said: 

"My  boy,  I  will  marry  you  for  the  lowest  possible 
price,  that  is,  free  of  charge,  for  the  love  of  God." 

"Thank  you  very  much,  M.  le  cure,"  I  answered, 
laughing  also.  "You  will  not  be  dealing  with  those 
who  are  forgetful  of  a  kindness." 

As  can  be  imagined,  our  wedding  was  not  a  very 
fine  one,  and  people  did  not  come  to  their  doorsteps 
to  see  us  pass.  I  had  no  relative  to  my  knowledge, 
except  that  cousin  of  my  father's  who  lived  over  by 
Cendrieux,  and  whose  name  I  did  not  even  know. 
Bertrille  was  situated  much  as  I  was,  having  only 
distant  relatives,  who  used  to  be  farmers  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Saint-Orse,  but  who,  during  the  ten  years 
since  she  had  lost  sight  of  them,  had  perhaps  changed 
farms  five  or  six  times.  So  we  were  alone,  before  the 
mayor  of  Fossemagne  and  at  the  church,  and  the  first 
comers  served  as  witnesses. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  385 

There  are  places  in  our  part  of  the  country  where 
they  offer  tourin,  or  onion-soup,  to  the  newly-married 
on  the  threshold  of  the  church  as  they  come  out.  But 
we  were  poor  and  without  friends,  and  no  one  offered 
this  courtesy. 

So,  when  we  had  come  out  of  the  church,  and  I 
had  hastily  thanked  the  cure,  I  borrowed  a  mule  and 
cart  from  a  man  whom  I  knew  in  the  town  because 
I  had  done  him  some  slight  service,  and  I  went  off 
with  my  wife  to  get  her  bit  of  furniture  from  Bars. 

When  I  had  loaded  everything  on  the  cart — not  a 
long  operation — we  went  back  to  Ages  over  the  bad 
forest  roads.  When  she  entered  the  house  and  saw 
the  table  of  planks  nailed  on  stakes  and  the  sort  of 
big  box  in  which  I  used  to  sleep  on  bracken,  my  wife 
looked  at  me  with  her  eyes  full  of  pity. 

"You  were  none  too  well  off  here,  my  Jacquou." 

"Bah!"  I  answered,  "I  slept  just  the  same." 

After  I  had  unloaded  everything  and  set  up  the 
bedstead,  I  went  off  to  take  back  the  mule  and  cart 
to  the  man  at  Fossemagne,  while  my  wife  set  a  pot 
on  the  fire  with  a  fowl  which  she  had  already  prepared. 

When  I  came  back  three  hours  later,  bringing  a  half 
pint  of  wine  that  I  had  bought  at  the  inn,  my  wife 
had  finished  arranging  everything  as  well  as  possible. 
It  was  not  really  very  much  to  have  a  bed  and  a  table 
in  this  hut;  but  to  me  it  seemed  as  if  everything  were 
completely  changed. 

The  bed  with  its  oakum  sheets  had  replaced  my 
box  in  the  corner,  and  in  the  middle,  instead  of  the 


386  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

nailed  boards,  was  the  table.  The  fire  shone  brightly 
on  the  black  hearth,  and  from  the  pot  there  escaped 
in  jets  a  savory  vapor.  On  a  towel  of  gray  linen 
which  covered  the  end  of  the  table  were  placed  a  loaf 
of  bread  and  two  plates  of  brown  earthenware.  And 
my  wife  came  and  went,  rinsing  two  greenish  goblets, 
wiping  two  spoons,  tasting  the  soup,  adding  salt,  cut- 
ting the  bread  in  the  soup-dish,  and,  in  short,  by  her 
mere  presence,  giving  life  to  this  miserable  dwelling 
that  had  formerly  been  sad  and  solitary. 

Then  with  my  heart  full  of  joy,  I  seized  her  as 
she  passed  close  to  me  and  kissed  her  so  heartily  that 
I  made  her  blush. 

When  everything  was  ready,  and  night  had  come, 
she  lighted  the  lamp,  and  poured  the  soup  over  the 
bread.  Then  when  we  had  sat  down,  she  served  it; 
and  this,  with  the  chicken  which  had  an  egg  stuffing, 
was  our  whole  wedding  feast.  All  the  same,  it  lasted 
a  long  time,  for  we  talked  more  than  we  ate,  recalling 
our  memories. 

"Who  would  have  thought  we  should  be  married, 
my  Bertrille,  when  we  came  back  from  the  celebration 
of  Saint-Remy  !'* 

"Then,'*  she  answered,  "there  were  two  poor  crea- 
tures between  us  who  are  no  longer  on  earth.  ..." 

While  we  talked  and  ate,  my  dog  sat  by  us,  watch- 
ing us  and  sweeping  the  ground  with  his  tail,  ap- 
parently well  pleased  with  the  change  that  had  taken 
place  in  the  house. 

"Come,  old  fellow,"  I  said,  throwing  him  the  bones. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  387 

"feast  yourself.  We  sha'n't  have  things  like  this  every 
evening." 

Bertrille  smiled  a  little. 

"Poverty  can  be  better  endured  together,  when  we 
love  each  other;  you  said  so  yourself,  Jacquou!'* 

"And  it  is  indeed  the  truth,  Bertrille;  he  who  is 
contented  is  rich,  and  this  evening  we  are  rich,  are 
we  not.'^"  And  then  I  added,  half  jestingly,  "We 
shall  be  even  richer  when  there  are  some  small 
children.'* 

"Yes,  my  Jacquou,"  she  answered,  quite  simply. 

"Thanks  to  God's  help,"  I  went  on,  pouring  out  two 
fingers  of  wine,  "we  are  both  strong  and  courageous. 
I  have  faith  that  we  shall  be  able  to  draw  good  from 
the  miseries  of  life.     To  your  health,  my  Bertrille!" 

"To  yours,  my  Jacquou !" 

And  when  we  had  touched  glasses  and  drunk  for 
a  last  time,  we  went  towards  the  hearth,  for  it  was 
cold,  and  continued  to  talk. 

We  stayed  there  a  long  time.  The  dog,  well  fed, 
was  sleeping,  curled  up  in  a  corner  of  the  hearth ;  and 
in  the  other  we  sat  close  together  on  the  stimip,  my 
wife  leaning  her  head  on  my  breast  and  I  with  my 
arm  about  her.  Outside,  the  winter  wind  was  blow- 
ing keen ;  sometimes  it  rushed  down  the  chimney,  driv- 
ing back  the  smoke,  and  making  the  lantern  flicker 
where  it  hung  on  a  nail.  I  felt  against  my  side  the 
heavy,  regular  heartbeats  of  my  wife,  and  I  was  happy. 
My  thoughts  were  traveling  far  on  into  the  future  into 
which  we  were  both  entering,  and  while  I  dreamed  of 


388  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

it,  I  watched  mechanically  the  branches  which  were 
being  slowly  consumed  and  turned  into  embers  revived 
by  the  air  from  outdoors. 

The  embers  became  covered  with  white  ashes,  and 
the  fire  went  out  little  by  little.  All  at  once  a  strong 
gust  blew  the  ashes  from  the  hearth  and  put  out  the 
light. 

"We  cannot  stay  here  any  longer,"  I  said  to  my 
wife,  kissing  her  in  the  shadow. 


CHAPTER  IX 

My  story  is  drawing  to  a  close.  The  sixty  years 
that  follow  can  be  briefly  told.  They  contain  only 
ordinary  events. 

The  Sunday  after  our  marriage,  without  waiting 
any  longer,  I  went  off  with  my  Bertrille  to  Fanlac, 
to  pay  our  respects  to  the  Chevalier  de  Galibert  and 
his  sister.  Although  I  had  sent  them  word  that  I 
was  to  be  married,  I  did  not  consider  that  enough. 
But  when  we  reached  there,  the  widow  of  Seguin  the 
weaver  told  us  that  Mile.  Hermine  had  died  the  year 
before  on  Saint  Martin's  Day.  As  for  her  brother, 
he  was  still  there  but  much  aged  and  saddened  by 
the  death  of  his  sister.  We  found  him  in  the  dining- 
room  before  a  big  fire  of  logs,  warming  his  legs, 
which  were  afflicted  with  pains  that  sometimes  made 
him  grit  his  teeth.  But  that  did  not  prevent  him 
from  giving  us  a  hearty  greeting  and  entertaining  us 
with  some  old  sayings,  although  in  my  opinion  they 
were  not  as  much  to  the  point  as  they  had  formerly 
been. 

"Ah,  there  you  are,  Master  Jacques,**  he  said,  in 
response  to  my  salutation,  "and  this  is  your  wife,  I 
suppose?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  M.  le  Chevalier.** 

S89 


S90  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

'Then  you  are  of  the  religion  of  St.  Joseph,  four 
sabots  under  the  bed?" 

We  laughed  a  little,  and  he  continued: 
"Since  you  have  begun  housekeeping,  Jacquou,  you 
must  remember  that  a  man  must  behave  himself  as 
*the  companion  of  his  wife  and  the  master  of  his 
horse.  .  .  .  '  Everything  should  be  shared  between 
you,  sorrow  and  happiness,  as  well  as  the  ordinary 
things  of  life,  as  the  old  familiar  saying  shows: 

"  To  drink,  eat  and  sleep  together — 
That,  it  seems  to  me,  is  marriage/  " 

Then  the  Chevalier  asked  me  where  I  was  now  liv- 
ing and  what  I  was  doing. 

When  I  had  told  him,  he  said: 

"That's  nothing  very  great,  but  you're  both  young; 
you'll  pull  through. 

"  'Poverty  is  no  sin ; 

He's  rich  enough  who  owes  nothing.' " 

Having  flung  off  these  two  sayings,  one  after  the 
other,  the  Chevalier  rose,  leaning  on  the  arms  of  his 
chair,  and  then,  helping  himself  with  his  cane,  he  went 
over  to  the  kitchen  and  called : 

"Hola!  Seconde!" 

The  maid  who  was  in  the  court  came  in. 

"You're  to  give  these  two  young  people  lunch,  you 
understand  ?" 

"Yes,  M.  le  Chevalier." 

And  turning  to  me,  by  way  of  explanation: 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  891 

"Poor  Toinette  died  six  months  before  my  sister.'* 

He  stood  pensive  a  moment  and  added: 

*'One  can  find  a  remedy  for  everything  but  death." 

And  at  that  he  sat  down  again  near  the  fire,  while 
Seconde  cut  the  bread  for  the  soup.  When  the  soup 
had  been  poured  out,  while  we  were  eating,  the  Cheva- 
lier talked  to  me  of  the  past,  and  took  pleasure  in 
recalling  his  memories.  He  spoke  for  a  long  time 
about  the  Cure  Bonal,  and  ended  by  saying : 

**He  was  both  a  man  and  a  priest,  he  was !  So  the 
Pharisees  persecuted  him." 

Then  among  other  things  he  asked  me  what  had 
become  of  the  Nansacs.  When  I  told  him  that  they 
had  all  disappeared  except  the  youngest  daughter  who 
had  stayed  behind  with  her  foster-mother,  he  said: 

"She'll  manage  very  well.  'A  beautiful  girl  and  an 
old  dress  always  find  someone  to  hook  them  up.'  " 

Towards  two  o'clock,  as  we  were  about  to  leave,  the 
ChevaHer  said  to  me: 

"You  know,  Jacquou,  that  if  you  are  ever  in  a 
hole  where  you  need  help,  you  must  let  me  know." 

"Many  thanks,  M.  le  Chevalier,  for  that  offer,  and 
many  thanks  a  thousand  times  over  for  all  your  past 
kindness,  for  which  I  shall  be  grateful  to  you  as  long 
as  there  is  life  in  my  body.  It  is  not  very  probable 
that  such  a  thing  should  happen — I  am  too  unim- 
portant for  that;  but  if  on  my  side  I  could  be  of 
use  to  you  in  any  way  whatever,  I  would  do  what 
I  could  with  right  good  will." 

"Thanks,  my  Jacquou,  I  shall  not  refuse.     *One 


892  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

has  often  need  of  someone  smaller  than  oneself!' 
Come,  good-bye,  my  children!" 

"Good  evening,  M.  le  Chevalier,  and  the  best  of 
health  from  both  of  us !" 

"What  a  fine  man !"  said  my  v^ife,  as  v^e  went  av^ay, 
"and  how  amusing  he  is  with  his  jokes  and  his 
proverbs !" 

"But  if  you  had  only  known  his  sister!  She  was 
a  saint,  she  was.  Poor  lady,  who  made  me  my  first 
shirts  when  I  came  to  Fanlac!  ...  I  shall  never  be 
consoled  for  not  having  been  at  her  burial." 

A  short  time  after  my  marriage,  I  decided  that 
working  here  and  there  by  the  day,  earning  a  few 
sous,  being  often  idle  and  reduced  to  eking  out  my 
living  with  all  sorts  of  odd  jobs,  was  too  uncertain 
and  unprofitable,  now  that  I  had  a  house  of  my  own, 
and  that  it  would  be  better  to  take  up  some  trade,  or 
some  sort  of  work  where  what  small  capacity  I  had 
could  serve  me  better  than  the  role  of  a  day  laborer. 

I  only  half  agreed  with  the  proverb  which  the 
Chevalier  would  sometimes  repeat  laughingly: 

"He  who  believes  his  wife  or  his  cure 
Is  in  danger  of  being  damned." 

I  talked  it  over  with  Bertrille,  who  was  quite  of 
my  opinion. 

Thereupon,  having  heard  that  Jean's  nephew  was 
looking  for  someone  to  help  him,  I  went  to  find  him, 
and  we  came  to  an  agreement.  Thus  I  became  a  char- 
coal-burner. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  393 

When  one  has  good  sense  and  the  desire  to  learn, 
things  move  quickly.  So  my  apprenticeship  was  not 
long.  I  must  say  also  that  the  trade  is  not  one  in 
which  you  need  a  very  skilled  hand.  It  is  experience 
above  everything  that  makes  a  good  charcoal-burner, 
combined  with  a  certain  knack  which,  with  a  little 
intelligence,  one  acquires  easily. 

Moreover,  you  must  not  think  that  the  trade  is  as 
disagreeable  as  it  is  black;  you  must  not  trust  ap- 
pearances. Many  people  would  doubtless  prefer  the 
trade  of  a  baker,  as  being  cleaner  than  that  of  a  char- 
coal-burner; but,  for  all  that,  what  a  difference  there 
is  between  them !  To  be  shut  up  in  a  bakehouse  where 
it  is  as  hot  as  hell,  to  sweat  and  whine  all  night,  bent 
over  the  kneading-trough,  to  burn  your  face  when 
you  put  things  into  the  oven,  to  go  to  bed  when  other 
people  are  getting  up, — that  is  a  fine  trade  for  you! 
A  charcoal-burner's  life  for  me! 

This  trade  suited  me  well,  because  one  is  alone  in 
the  woods  and  lives  there  in  peace,  only  rarely  having 
to  do  with  other  people.  There  are  some  who  need 
the  society  of  others,  who  wish  to  mingle  with  the 
crowd,  who  need  neighbors,  need  the  exchange  of 
pleasantries  or  idle  talk;  not  I.  And  it  seems  to  me 
a  misfortune  not  to  know  how  to  live  alone.  When 
men  are  gathered  together  they  are  worth  less  than 
each  by  himself.  This  is  true  morally  as  well  as 
physically;  great  gatherings  of  human  beings  are  un- 
healthy for  the  mind  and  the  heart  as  well  as  the 
body.     It  is  in  vain  that  city  folk  boast  of  some 


394  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

advantage,  in  this,  that,  or  the  other  respect;  the  poor 
things  can  spit  no  further  than  we  can.  Also,  when 
I  hear  them  praising  the  Hfe  of  the  city,  it  seems  to 
me  that  they  are  winding  up  tripe  on  a  reel  of  maple- 
wood. 

Well,  then,  to  return.  Nothing  was  more  pleasant 
to  me  than  to  work  like  this  in  the  open  air  and 
sunshine,  and  watch  the  furnaces  by  starlight.  It  is 
not  a  work  that  keeps  one  from  thinking;  on  the 
contrary,  one  has  plenty  of  time  for  it,  and  subjects 
for  thought  are  not  lacking.  How  many  times  at 
night,  lifting  my  head  and  seeing  those  millions  of 
suns  lost  in  immeasurable  depths,  and  burning  against 
the  dark  blue  of  the  sky,  have  I  fallen  into  a  reverie ! 
How  many  times  have  I  admired  those  stars  that  move 
aloft,  exact  as  a  well-regulated  clock,  passing  their 
ordained  points  in  space.  By  dint  of  observing  them, 
I  ended  by  knowing  the  time  from  their  position  as 
well  as  if  I  had  had  a  watch.  I  know  nothing  more 
beautiful  than  to  see  the  evening  star  rise  slowly  from 
the  horizon.  Often,  alone  in  the  midst  of  the  woods, 
I  have  followed  its  superb  ascension  into  the  firma- 
ment, telling  myself  that  perhaps  on  that  star  some 
charcoal-burner,  watching  his  ovens  in  some  sort  of 
Barade  forest,  was  contemplating  the  earth,  as  I,  on 
the  earth,  contemplated  his  planet. 

You  will  say  perhaps:  "All  that  is  very  fine  in  good 
weather;  but  when  it  rained?  ..." 

Well,  when  it  rained,  I  took  shelter  in  the  hut;  and 
then  I  had  a  good,  tough  skin  that  protected  me  from 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  395 

the  wet.  A  little  water, — that  amounts  to  nothing, 
and  now  and  then  I  don't  object  to  it. 

To  continue.  I  Hked  also  to  observe  what  was  go- 
ing on  about  me,  to  learn  the  ways  and  habits  of  the 
animals  and  the  birds.  I  spied  upon  the  hedgehog 
chasing  snakes;  the  squirrel  on  his  hunt  for  beech- 
nuts ;  the  fox  yelping  on  the  track  of  a  hare ;  the  weasel 
and  the  marten  surprising  the  brooding  hen  in  the 
nest;  the  prowling  wolves  coming  out  of  their  lairs 
at  the  hour  when  the  stars  rise,  and  returning  in  the 
morning  after  having  eaten  some  dog  that  had  stayed 
outside  a  village.  Sometimes  I  passed  long  intervals 
watching  the  tricks  of  some  animal  that  did  not  see  me. 

One  very  curious  thing  is  to  see  the  birds  build 
their  nests.  Their  skill  in  weaving  the  moss,  linen, 
grass,  horse-hair  is  astonishing,  as  is  the  rapidity  with 
which  they  finish  their  work.  I  knew  all  the  nests: — 
that  of  the  lark  which  on  the  ground  in  the  imprint 
of  an  ox's  hoof,  and  which  conceals  builds  its  nest 
so  well  that  often  the  reaper  passes  over  it  without 
seeing  it;  that  of  the  oriole,  suspended  between  the 
two  branches  of  a  forked  limb ;  that  of  the  wren,  built 
in  the  form  of  a  ball,  with  a  little  hole  for  entrance ; 
that  of  the  tomtit,  in  which  fifteen  to  eighteen  little 
ones  are  pressed  one  against  the  other  in  the  hole  of 
a  chestnut  tree ;  that  of  the  turtle-dove,  which  is  ma4e 
of  nothing  more  than  some  crossed  twigs.  Seeing 
only  an  Qgg,  I  could  tell  infallibly  of  what  bird  it 
was.    There  are  many  species,  however,  in  our  region. 

I  should  have  liked  to  know  also  the  names  of  the 


396  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

great  number  of  plants  which  abound  in  our  country- 
side; I  mean,  their  French  names,  for  to  my  great 
surprise  the  majority  have  no  name  in  patois.  But 
if  I  did  not  know  the  name  of  all,  I  knew  them, 
many  at  least,  by  their  form,  the  time  of  their  flower- 
ing, and  then  by  their  useful  and  injurious  qualities, 
as,  for  example, — the  plant  for  wounds,  or  plantain; 
the  plant  for  cats,  which  makes  them  mad;  the  plant 
for  corns;  the  deviFs  plant,  for  conjuring;  the  plant 
for  chilblains ;  the  plant  for  sneezing ;  the  plant  to  cure 
fevers;  the  plant  for  madmen;  the  plant  which  cures 
the  scab;  the  plant  for  beggars,  or  clematis;  the  plant 
for  drunkards,  ivraie  m  French,  virajo  in  patois;  the 
plant  for  lepers;  the  plant  for  wolves,  which  is  a 
poison ;  the  plant  to  heal  scrofula ;  the  sorcerers*  plant, 
which  is  mandrake ;  the  milk-plant  for  nursing  mothers 
who  need  it ;  Saint-Fiacre's  plant,  or  mullein ;  the  plant 
to  kill  lice;  the  plant  to  drive  away  fleas;  the  plant 
for  whitlow;  Saint-Roch's  plant,  which  they  attach  to 
the  yoke,  the  day  of  the  blessing  of  the  animals;  the 
plant  for  ringworm,  or  burdock;  the  plant  for  warts; 
finally,  to  make  an  end  of  this  list,  the  five  plants  of 
Saint  John,  of  which  they  make  crosses  nailed  on  the 
doors  of  stables;  all,  plants  which  must  not  be  for- 
gotten when  one  wishes  to  succeed  in  some  important 
affair. 

Surely  no  one  is  going  to  tell  me  that  my  life  in 
the  woods  was  not  freer,  healthier  and  more  intelligent, 
a  hundred  times,  than  that  of  the  people  of  my  station 
in  life  in  the  towns,  where  they  have  only  a  few  years 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  897 

to  live  and  diseases  unknown  among  us,  and  they 
cannot  even  distinguish  rye  from  oats.  Even  if  some- 
body did  tell  me  so,  I  would  not  believe  it  at  all. 

One  can  well  imagine  that  being  always  outdoors 
and  in  the  woods,  I  took  care  not  to  forget  my  hunt- 
ing. And  indeed,  I  always  loved  it  passionately;  my 
gun  was  always  in  the  hut,  loaded,  all  ready.  Only, 
it  need  not  be  thought  that  when  you  are  at  work, 
and  you  have  the  furnaces  burning,  you  can  shoot 
your  gun  as  often  as  you  like;  you  can  only  do  so 
when  you  get  a  chance. 

All  the  same,  I  sometimes  had  strokes  of  luck,  as 
when  I  carried  off  a  whole  brood  of  young  wolves 
in  the  forest,  near  Cros-de-Mortier.  My  wife  took 
them  to  Perigueux  in  a  hamper,  as  large  as  puppies 
three  weeks  old ;  and  they  gave  her  the  bounty,  which 
served  us  well  in  fixing  up  our  hut,  and  adding  a 
room  to  it. 

After  that,  I  killed  a  number  of  badgers,  as  I  lay 
in  wait  for  them  or  was  out  hunting,  and  three  other 
wolves,  in  the  following  way.  At  the  proper  season, 
which  is  winter,  I  would  call  the  wolves  by  howling 
into  my  sabot,  imitating  an  excited  she- wolf.  My 
imitation  was  so  good  that  one  night  four  fine  wolves 
came  to  the  spot  where  I  was  hidden  and  howled  in 
reply.  Soon  they  began  to  encircle  each  other,  growl- 
ing like  dogs,  jealous,  their  hair  bristling.  I  greeted 
them  all  with  a  gunshot  which  stretched  one  of  them 
out  dead. 

Curious  readers  will  perhaps  say:  "You  were  just 


398  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

speaking  of  your  wife.  What  did  she  do  while  you 
were  in  the  woods  making  charcoal  ?" 

Well,  as  for  me,  I  was  never  one  of  those  molly- 
coddles who  cannot  leave  their  wife's  skirts.  I  cer- 
tainly loved  her  dearly,  but  you  do  not  have  to  pet 
a  person  constantly  to  show  your  affection ;  and  when 
it  was  necessary  to  separate,  we  did  so  without  mak- 
ing a  to-do  about  it.  But  it  is  true,  too,  that  I  was 
not  like  the  chabreta'ires,  or  village  fiddlers,  who  find 
no  house  so  bad  as  their  own,  accustomed  as  they 
are  to  be  feasted  wherever  they  go.  On  the  contrary, 
I  always  came  back  to  my  home  with  pleasure. 

But  at  first,  while  I  was  busy  turning  into  char- 
coal some  wood  cut  in  the  neighborhood  of  Lac-Viel, 
my  wife  would  come  out  to  me  and  stay  two  or  three 
days;  then  she  would  go  back  to  Ages  to  see  if  any- 
thing had  been  disturbed,  and  would  come  back  again 
later,  bringing  some  bread,  or  whatever  else  I  needed. 
During  the  day  she  would  help  me  set  up  a  furnace, 
or  would  sit  turning  the  spindle  after  it  was  lighted. 
Then  she  would  make  the  soup  and  stir  the  fire  under 
the  pot  which  hung  from  three  stakes  propped  to- 
gether at  the  top.  When  evening  came,  we  would 
have  supper  by  firelight,  and  go  to  sleep  in  the  cabin, 
lying  on  fern  and  sheepskins.  Sometimes  I  had  to 
get  up  to  see  to  the  furnaces,  but  I  let  my  wife  sleep 
on  peacefully,  guarded  by  the  dog  who  slept  across 
the  doorway.  I  can't  help  saying  once  more  that  it 
was  a  fine  life,  healthy,  free  and  vigorous. 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  899 

This  was  how  we  lived  when  we  were  first  married. 
But  when,  nine  months  later,  my  wife  had  a  boy, 
she  brought  him  with  her,  and  after  he  had  nursed 
to  his  heart's  content,  she  would  put  him  to  sleep  in 
the  cabin,  where  he  slept  his  fill.  As  long  as  there 
was  only  one,  that  did  very  well,  but  when  the  second 
came,  he  had  to  be  told  to  go!  My  wife  had  to  stay  at 
Ages,  and  care  for  the  latest  arrival,  while  the  elder 
began  to  walk,  clinging  to  her  skirts;  and  poor  Jac- 
quou  was  obliged  to  stay  alone  in  the  middle  of  the 
woods  and  cook  his  soup  himself.  As  time  passed, 
every  two,  or  rather  two  and  a  half  years,  there  would 
be  another  child  in  the  house,  so  that  my  wife  could 
not  think  of  leaving  it  until  the  oldest  was  seven  or 
eight  years  old  and  could  watch  the  smaller  ones. 

For  that  matter,  I  did  not  always  work  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, or  even  in  the  Barade  forest,  although  that 
was  my  proper  quarter.  Sometimes  I  was  far  away 
in  the  forest  of  Vergt,  or  in  that  of  Masnegre,  between 
Valojoux  and  Tamniers;  sometimes  even  up  at  Bes- 
sede,  near  Belves,  and  in  the  forest  of  Born  I  under- 
took to  make  charcoal,  chiefly  for  the  forges.  Thus, 
of  necessity,  we  acquired  the  habit,  my  wife  and  I, 
of  being  separated  at  times;  but  that  did  not  prevent 
us  from  loving  each  other  as  much  as  before.  If  I 
dared,  I  would  even  say  that  these  little  absences 
strengthened  our  affection,  for  affection  languishes 
when  people  never  leave  each  other. 

Our  situation  was  scarcely  changed  since  we  went 


400  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

to  housekeeping.  It  was  already  a  long  time  since 
Jean's  nephew  had  sold  his  house  at  Maurezies  and 
his  piece  of  land,  and  had  gone  over  near  Salignac, 
so  that  I  was  the  only  charcoal-maker  in  thp  district. 
I  had  hired  a  boy,  for  the  work  required  it;  but  this 
does  not  mean  that  we  were  rich.  For  we  needed 
bread,  and  a  good  deal  of  it,  for  all  these  children, 
who  had  a  big  appetite;  and  then  there  were  clothes! 
Although  up  to  the  age  of  twenty  they  went  bare- 
headed and  barefoot,  except  when  in  winter  they  wore 
sabots,  they  had  to  have  at  every  season  shirts  and 
trousers,  and  jackets  when  it  w^as  cold.  It  is  true 
that  as  they  grew  up  their  clothes  passed  to  the  one 
who  came  next  in  age,  so  that  when  they  reached  the 
last  one,  there  were  nothing  but  patched  rags  left, 
though  these  were  always  clean.  What  gave  my  wife 
the  most  trouble  was  the  linen  to  make  the  shirts  and 
the  sheets.  In  winter  she  sat  up  late  and  spun  as 
much  as  she  could,  putting  dry  prunes  in  her  mouth 
to  make  saliva.  The  children's  maintenance  and 
nourishment  all  mounted  up  then,  without  counting  our 
being  obliged  to  buy  many  things :  a  cabinet  to  arrange 
the  clothes  in,  a  bread-pan,  and  another  bed  for  all 
the  children;  they  lay  in  this,  some  lengthwise,  others 
across,  at  the  head  and  at  the  foot. 

When  we  presented  them  one  after  the  other  for 
baptism,  as  fast  as  they  came,  the  good  old  cure  of 
Fossemagne  would  say,  laughing: 

"Ah!    Ah!    I've  been  lucky,  I  had  a  good  hand!" 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  401 

And  as  for  the  fee,  it  was  always  the  same:  nothing. 

But  occasionally,  my  wife  took  or  sent  him  a  hare 
or  a  couple  of  wood-pigeons  at  the  migrating  season, 
a  fine  basket  of  mushrooms,  or  some  other  little  gift 
like  that  to  show  our  gratitude. 

Although  we  were  not  rich,  we  were  happier  and 
more  contented  than  if  we  had  had  a  hundred  thou- 
sand francs.  I  no  longer  thought  of  anything  but  my 
wife,  my  children  and  my  work.  And  in  thinking 
of  my  work,  I  was  always  thinking  of  my  family, 
since  I  was  working  to  support  them.  I  had  not  for- 
gotten the  past,  but  it  was  no  longer  always  before 
my  mind,  occupied  as  it  was  with  the  affairs  of  the 
present. 

If  some  circumstance,  however,  came  to  remind  me 
of  it,  my  memory  reawoke  vividly  and  carried  me 
back  to  the  unhappy  days  of  my  childhood  and  my 
youth.  When  I  remembered  that  rascality  of  the 
Count,  I  still  felt  the  hatred  growling  in  me,  like  a 
dog  that  one  cannot  appease.  When  I  passed  the 
places  where  I  had  met  Galiote,  I  recalled  the  fever 
of  love  which  burned  in  me  then,  and  I  had  some 
difficulty,  sober-minded  as  I  was  now,  in  the  fullness 
of  my  affection  for  my  wife,  in  understanding  my 
madness  of  those  days.  About  the  time  of  the  birth 
of  our  eldest  child,  she  had  left  the  country,  for  her 
brother  and  her  sisters,  being  in  need  of  money,  had 
wished  to  sell  the  farm  where  she  lived.  Where  had 
she  gone?    Had  she  ended  by  going  to  the  bad  like 


102  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

her  sisters?  I  never  knew;  it  is  possible,  but  I  prefer 
to  think  that  she  did  not,  for  she  was  worth  more 
than  the  others. 

As  for  the  Count,  they  say  in  the  countryside  that, 
after  having  Hved  for  a  long  time  on  charity,  so  to 
speak,  licking  the  platter  in  the  chateaus  roundabout, 
or  at  the  house  of  Dom  Enjalbert,  and  enduring 
wherever  he  went  the  contempt  of  his  poverty,  he  had 
taken  refuge  at  Paris  with  his  eldest  daughter,  who 
was  a  hard  drinker,  and  finally  died  in  the  poor-house. 

It  was  just  as  the  Chevalier  had  said: 

"One  hundred  years  a  banner,  one  hundred  years 
a  barrow!  ..." 

A  few  years  after  our  marriage,  I  was  talking  with 
my  wife  about  the  four  terrible  days  when  I  had  lain 
in  the  oubliette  of  I'Herm,  and  although  it  was  not 
the  first  time,  she  clasped  her  hands  with  exclamations 
of  pity,  as  she  always  did  on  hearing  this  tale.  She 
wished  to  see  the  very  spot,  and  one  Sunday  we  walked 
over  to  I'Herm. 

When  we  had  arrived  in  front  of  these  ruins,  in- 
habited now  only  by  owls  and  bats,  I  felt  a  stir  of 
pride  on  seeing  the  result  of  my  work,  and  on  thinking 
that  I,  poor  and  despised  as  I  was,  had  overcome  the 
Comte  de  Nansac,  in  spite  of  his  being  powerful  and 
well-guarded.  When  my  wife  saw  that  stone  trap- 
door in  the  pavement  of  the  prison,  that  black  hole 
through  which  they  had  lowered  me  into  the  dark- 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  403 

ness  of  the  dungeon,  she  gave  a  quiver  of  pain,  and 
recoiled  in  horror. 

"Oh,  my  poor  husband!  How  were  you  able  to 
live  four  days  and  four  nights  down  there?" 

As  I  came  out  of  the  enclosure  of  the  chateau,  I 
found  the  boy  who  had  kept  watch  on  the  night  of 
the  fire.  He  was  now  married  in  the  village,  and 
he  made  us  come  in  and  drink  a  glass  with  him.  As 
we  clinked  our  glasses,  we  spoke  of  that  night  when 
we  had  done  justice  to  that  family  of  wolves,  and  then 
he  said  to  me: 

"I  don't  understand  how  the  people  of  this  region 
were  able  to  endure  all  these  miseries  so  long!  Devil 
take  me,  if  I  don't  believe  that,  w^ithout  you,  we  would 
still  be  under  the  fist  of  those  brigands!" 

"In  the  end,  doubtless  somebody  would  have  rid 
the  country  of  them,"  I  replied. 

"Perhaps,  but  while  they  waited,  you  did  it!  And 
you  will  bear  the  marks  of  it  to  your  death,"  he  added, 
looking  at  the  scars  of  the  bullets  in  my  cheeks. 

And  having  drunk  a  final  glass,  I  returned  to  Ages 
with  my  wife. 

Another  time,  as  we  went  together  to  the  fair  on 
the  25th  of  January  at  Rouffignac,  to  buy  a  little  pig, 
I  showed  her  the  tile-works  where  I  had  passed  such 
terrible  moments  at  the  time  of  my  mother's  death. 
But  it  had  been  years  since  that  time,  and  the  frame- 
work and  the  tiling  had  fallen  in,  dragging  down  the 
mud- walls,  so  that  the  house  was  nothing  but  a  heap  of 


404  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

ruins,  a  chaos  of  earth  and  stones  and  broken  tiles, 
covered  with  briars  and  wild  grasses,  from  which  pro- 
jected half-rotten  wood,  like  the  bones  of  some  huge 
animal  buried  under  the  debris. 

And  there  I  told  her  of  the  horrible  anguish  I 
had  experienced  when,  as  a  young  boy,  I  saw  my 
distracted  mother  die  in  all  the  agonies  of  despair. 

"Poor  thing !"  she  said,  "you  were  not  any  too  happy 
in  those  early  years.*' 

"No;  but  now,  please  God,  except  for  unforeseen 
accidents,  the  evil  days  are  over." 

She  said  nothing,  and  we  continued  on  our  way. 

On  my  last  visit  to  Fanlac  with  my  wife,  I  had 
urged  old  Cariol  to  let  me  know  if  anything  was  the 
matter  with  the  Chevalier.  As  I  have  already  said, 
it  had  given  me  much  regret,  and  even  genuine  grief, 
not  to  have  been  present  at  the  burial  of  the  good  Mile. 
Hermine.  Although  it  was  not  my  fault,  yet  it  seemed 
to  me  that  I  had  been  wanting  in  my  dutv.  and  I  did 
not  wish  to  repeat  the  offense.  One  morning  a  boy 
arrived  at  Ages,  sent  by  Cariol  to  bring  us  the  news 
that  the  Chevalier  was  dead.  At  this  time  we  already 
had  several  children;  so  my  wife  sent  the  oldest,  who 
was  big  enough,  to  tell  me  the  news,  over  by  Fagnac 
where  I  was.  I  left  my  workman  with  the  furnaces, 
and  hastened  back  to  the  house,  where,  having  put 
on  my  best  clothes,  I  departed  for  Fanlac,  and  arrived 
just  in  time  for  the  burial. 

Here  is  what  it  means  to  be  a  good  man !  The  whole 
parish  was  there :  old  and  young,  men  and  women 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  405 

and  little  children,  and,  along  with  them,  many  of  the 
nobles  and  gentlefolk  of  Montignac  and  the  neighbor- 
hood. All  the  men  were  anxious  to  assist  in  carrying 
the  body  to  the  cemetery,  or  at  least  to  touch  the 
coffin.  The  cure  was  no  longer  the  one  who  had 
replaced  Bonal;  the  people  had  hated  him  so  bitterly 
that  he  had  been  obliged  to  leave,  as  I  have  said.  His 
successor,  whom  they  had  sent  two  years  later, 
preached  a  fine  sermon  over  the  Chevalier's  tomb,  and 
praised  him  as  he  deserved.  When  he  announced  that 
in  his  will  the  dead  man  had  given  all  his  property 
to  the  poor  of  the  parish,  there  was  a  long  murmur 
of  blessings  from  them  all,  and  the  good  women  wiped 
their  eyes.  Unfortunately  it  was  not  a  fortune  that 
he  left,  the  good  man;  for  there  remained  scarcely 
twenty-five  or  twenty-six  thousand  francs  in  actual 
value,  as  it  appeared,  the  estate  being  heavily  mort- 
gaged. It  was  not  because  of  dissipation  or  poor 
management  that  the  Chevalier  and  his  sister  had  used 
up  their  property;  it  was  through  generosity.  He 
had  never  known  how  to  refuse  a  hundred  ecus  in 
cash  to  a  man  in  need;  and,  trusting  as  a  child,  he 
had  often  invested  his  money  badly,  or  neglected  to 
take  the  necessary  precautions.  It  was  the  same  with 
the  poor;  the  brother  and  sister  had  always  given 
without  calculation.  So  they  ate  up  their  property, 
little  by  little,  and  for  several  years  had  lived  more  on 
their  principal  than  on  their  interest.  As  for  that, 
even  the  fortunes  of  those  who  pay  close  attention  to 
them  inevitably  shrink,  unless  they  are  renewed  from 


406  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

some  source, — industry,  marriage  or  inheritance.  A 
small  country  nobleman  like  the  Chevalier  who,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  century  was  rich,  with  an  income  o"? 
two  thousand  ecus,  found  himself  in  straits  thirty  years 
later,  and  would  be  poor  to-day.  If,  along  with  that, 
there  fell  several  bad  seasons,  or  extensive  repairs  had 
to  be  made,  he  would  have  to  borrow ;  the  debts  rolled 
up  like  a  snowball,  and  he  would  be  totally  ruined. 

Some  time  after  the  burial  of  the  Chevalier,  I  was 
coming  back  from  Ages,  and  was  going  to  look  at 
a  cutting  on  the  slope  of  La  Bossenie,  when  on  the 
path,  at  a  distance  of  a  hundred  paces,  I  saw  coming 
towards  me  an  old  woman  in  rags,  all  bent  over,  with 
a  stick  in  her  hand  and  a  wallet  on  her  back.  As  I 
approached,  I  said  to  myself:  "Who  the  devil  is  this 
old  woman?"  And  all  of  a  sudden,  although  she  was 
so  much  altered,  thin  as  a  pickax,  with  pointed  nose 
and  red  eyes,  I  recognized  Mathive,  and  my  hatred 
for  this  rascal  of  a  woman  suddenly  revived.  On 
reaching  me,  she  raised  her  head  a  little,  and  recogniz- 
ing me  too,  she  stopped. 

"O  Jacquou,"  she  said,  ''you  see  Tm  very  miser- 
able!" 

"So  much  the  better !  You  will  never  be  sufficiently 
so  to  suit  me!" 

"Guilhem  has  squandered  all  my  property,"  she  con- 
tinued, wiping  her  eyes,  "and  now  I  am  begging  my 
bread.  ..." 

"Old  scamp!  Since  the  death  of  poor  Lina,  I  have 
wanted  to  see  you  dying  in  a  ditch  with  your  wallet 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  407 

on  your  back!    You  are  on  the  road  there;  I  have 

no  pity  for  you!" 

And  I  went  on. 

I  was  certainly  wrong  not  to  remember,  on  this 
occasion,  the  lessons  of  the  Cure  Bonal,  who  had  never 
ceased  to  preach  pity.  But  the  thought  that  this  miser- 
able mother  had  made  her  own  daughter  suffer  so 
much,  and  had  finally,  one  might  say,  killed  that  sweet- 
est and  best  of  beings,  revolted  me  and  made  me 
insane  with  anger.  Merciful  we  undoubtedly  ought 
to  be,  but  it  is  also  necessary  to  point  out  that  if  one 
is  too  lax  in  pardoning,  one  encourages  the  wicked. 
Those  in  whom  conscience  is  dead  require  that  the 
conscience  of  others  should  recall  to  them  their  faults 
and  crimes.  Then,  too,  the  horror  which  the  wicked 
inspire  is  a  just  punishment  for  them,  and  serves  as 
a  warning  to  those  who  are  tempted  to  imitate  them. 
What  I  had  wished  for  took  place:  one  winter  morn- 
ing they  found  Mathive  dead  on  the  road  between 
Martillat  and  Prisse,  half  eaten  by  the  wolves. 

Since  I  have  just  mentioned  this  infamous  Guilhem, 
I  will  add  concerning  him  that  shortly  after  the  death 
of  Mathive,  he  was  condemned  to  the  galleys  for  life. 
One  evening,  after  the  fair  at  Ladouze,  he  had  beaten 
down  and  robbed  a  pig  merchant  of  Thenon,  on  the 
high  road  at  Croix-de-Ruchard.  Such  was  his  in- 
evitable end. 

All  these  things  are  now  far  away.  I  am  at  this 
time  ninety  years  old;  and  these  events,  although  a 


408  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

little  obscured  by  the  mist  of  the  past,  return  some- 
times to  my  memory.  Like  all  old  people,  I  love  to 
tell  old  tales,  and  I  do  it  at  too  great  length  un- 
doubtedly, since  they  are  not  always  cheerful.  In  the 
village  of  I'Herm,  however,  where  I  now  live,  the 
people  do  not  find  it  so;  but  that  is  because,  during 
the  long  winter  evenings,  they  are  used  to  hearing 
interminable  stories.  Although  I  tell  them  everything 
in  great  detail,  just  as  I  remember  it,  there  are  some 
among  them  who  find  that  I  do  not  explain  myself 
sufficiently.  They  wish  to  know  what  the  hair  of  my 
dog  was  like,  and  the  age  of  our  dead  cat. 

I  have  had  thirteen  children,  male  and  female.  Peo- 
ple say  that  this  number  thirteen  brings  bad  luck;  but  as 
for  me,  I  have  never  observed  it.  Only  one  of  them 
died,  which  is  something  rare  and  almost  extraordi- 
nary. But,  born  robust  and  brought  up  in  the  midst 
of  the  woods  in  a  wholesome  region,  they  were  pro- 
tected from  those  diseases  which  run  through  the  cities 
and  the  towns,  where  people  are  too  much  crowded 
together.  If  I  say  that  I  have  had  so  many  children, 
it  is  not  in  order  to  boast;  that  is  nothing,  for  men 
do  not  suffer  in  having  them:  it  is  the  poor  women 
who  have  all  the  pain,  and  also  the  trouble  of  bringing 
them  up.  My  wife  was  twenty  years  old  when  we 
were  married,  and  from  that  time  up  to  nearly  fifty, 
she  never  ceased  to  haye  a  child  in  her  arms,  v/hich 
she  put  on  the  ground  when  the  next  arrived.  I  say 
frankly  that  towards  the  end  I  lost  count  a  little ;  for 
one  carnival  evening,  while  we  were  having  supper, 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  409 

I  amused  myself  by  counting  them,  and  found  there 
were  only  eleven. 

"And  Jeanette,  who  is  down  there,  married,  at 
Moustier,'*  said  my  wife,  "is  she  a  bastard?" 

"On  my  word!  I  never  thought  of  her;  but  that 
still  makes  only  twelve?'' 

Then  she  went  to  take  the  last  little  one  from  the 
bed,  and  presented  him  to  me : 

"And  this  one, — don't  you  know  him?" 

"Ah,  the  poor  little  thing !   I  forgot  him." 

And  I  took  the  little  baby,  who  smiled  at  me,  kissed 
him,  and  made  him  dance  a  little  in  the  air:  after  this, 
I  gave  him  a  little  drop  of  wine  in  my  glass  to  taste. 

During  this  talk,  the  other  children,  who  were 
around  the  table,  were  laughing  to  see  that  their  father 
could  not  recognize  his  thirteen  children  any  more. 

At  that  time  some  of  the  boys  and  girls  were  mar- 
ried, and  others  had  left  to  work  away  from  home; 
so  that  it  was  not  surprising  that  one  of  them  should 
be  forgotten.  Certainly  not !  Only,  my  wife  said  that 
the  carnival  was  to  blame. 

It  is  true  enough  that  even  if  the  man  has  not 
the  trouble  of  bearing  and  bringing  up  the  children, 
he  has  to  struggle  to  nourish  and  support  them;  and 
this  is  no  small  matter,  especially  when  there  are  so 
many  of  them.  Thanks  to  God,  however,  I  did  not 
let  them  want  for  bread,  although  it  meant  hard 
drudgery.  But  what  of  it !  That's  what  we  are  made 
for;  I  don't  complain. 

You  can  imagine  that  with  this  troop  of  children 


410  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

I  was  not  able  to  become  rich.  In  my  whole  life 
I  have  never  been  fifty  ecus  ahead;  but  I  have  been 
content,  all  the  same,  provided  that  from  day  to  day 
there  was  enough  in  our  house  to  buy  a  sack  of  wheat. 
So  the  inheritance  I  shall  leave  will  not  be  large:  all 
together  it  is  the  Ages  house  with  three  acres  of 
land  about  it, — the  whole  having  been  bought  for  forty 
pistoles,  and  a  gold  louis  thrown  in  (for  the  lady's 
breast-pin),  and  paid  Httle  by  little  in  installments  of 
fifty  francs  on  Saint  John's  Day  and  at  Christmas. 

So  you  see  I  have  not  been  rich  in  goods,  but  only 
in  children;  and  when  I  think  of  it,  I  find  that  I 
have  received  the  better  share.  I  prefer  to  leave  be- 
hind me  many  children  rather  than  a  great  deal  of 
land  or  money.  You  will  tell  me  that  when  I  am 
dead  it  will  be  all  the  same  to  me.  True  enough! 
But  while  I  wait,  I  am  rejoiced  now  to  see  swarming 
about  me  all  these  grandchildren  and  great-grand- 
children who  have  sprung  from  me.  As  to  this  scor^ 
I  have  entirely  lost  the  count,  or,  to  speak  more  ac- 
curately, I  have  never  known  it.  Besides,  I  must 
confess,  there  is  in  all  this  matter  something  that  I 
estimate  very  highly, — that  is,  the  satisfaction  of  hav- 
ing done  my  duty  as  a  man  and  a  citizen.  Unfor- 
tunately, that  is  an  affair  about  which  people  scarcely 
think  nowadays.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  formerly 
there  were  peoples  among  whom  the  man  who  had 
no  children  was  despised,  and  the  citizen  who 
had  the  most  was  most  highly  valued.  To-day,  such 
a  man  would  be  called  an  imbecile.    People,  especially 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  411 

tfie  well-to-do,  prefer  to  have  only  one  child  and  to 
make  him  rich.  It  is  known  well  enough,  however, 
that  the  children  of  the  rich  are  less  worthy.  It  is 
a  bad  situation  to  enter  life  with  everything  you  desire; 
it  ruins  all  initiative  and  all  resource,  or  prevents  you 
from  acquiring  them.  So  one  sees  the  rich  families 
degenerate.  There  are  doubtless  exceptions,  but  they 
are  rare. 

But  I  loiter  on  my  way;  it  is  time  to  finish.  It  is 
now  ten  years  since  my  poor  wife  died,  and  since  that 
time,  I  have  left  the  Ages  house  to  my  eldest  son, 
who  will  make  arrangements  with  his  brothers  and 
sisters;  and  I  have  come  to  live  at  I'Herm,  with  an- 
other of  my  sons.  That  was  a  heavy  blow,  the  separa- 
tion from  her  with  whom  I  had  lived  so  long,  without 
an  hour  of  discord ;  for  she  was  a  good  woman,  more 
devoted  and  valiant  than  one  can  say.  But  the  good  as 
well  as  the  wicked  are  subject  to  death. 

After  that,  another  misfortune  happened  to  me,  only 
two  years  ago  at  Assumption-tide,  when  I  became  blind 
almost  at  a  stroke.  I,  who  still  went  to  take  care 
of  the  goat  along  the  roads,  am  no  longer  good  for 
anything.  I  have  to  take  the  hand  of  my  Nore  or 
my  little  Charlotte,  who  lead  me  to  a  seat  in  a  good 
spot  sheltered  from  the  wind,  where  I  warm  myself 
in  the  winter  sun.  Otherwise,  my  head  is  sound,  and 
my  legs  are  good.  When  my  granddaughter  keeps 
me  company,  I  have  enough  to  do  to  ansv»^er  her,  for 
she  questions  me  incessantly  about  this  or  that,  as  is 
the  habit,  you  know,  of  little  children  who  wish  to 


412  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

know  everything.  But  sometimes  she  leaves  me  and 
goes  to  amuse  herself  with  the  other  children  of  the 
village,  and  then  I  stay  alone,  unless  our  nearest  neigh- 
bor, old  Peyronne,  comes  to  sit  with  me.  But  we  do 
not  hold  much  conversation,  for  she  is  deaf  as  a  pot. 

When  I  am  all  alone  in  the  sun,  or  perhaps  in  the 
summer  in  the  shade  of  an  old  nut-tree  that  stands 
at  the  approach  to  the  chateau  moat,  I  ponder  over 
my  memories  and  sound  my  conscience.  I  think  of 
all  that  I  have  done, — of  the  burning  of  the  forest  and 
the  chateau;  and,  after  turning  and  revolving  things 
in  all  their  aspects,  after  examining  closely  all  the 
circumstances,  I  find  myself  excusable,  just  as  did 
those  brave  gentlemen  of  the  jury.  My  only  regret 
is  the  Count's  two  dogs  that  I  got  strangled  in  my 
snares;  for  the  poor  beasts  were  not  to  blame.  But 
as  for  the  rest,  I  returned  war  for  war,  and  I  only 
defended  myself  and  my  people  and  all  the  rest  of 
us,  against  the  odious  misdeeds  and  criminal  wicked- 
ness of  the  Comte  de  Nansac.    So  I  have  no  remorse. 

In  the  village  and  everywhere,  they  are  doubtless 
of  the  same  opinion,  for  the  people  are  fond  of  me 
and  respect  me  as  the  one  who  delivered  them  from 
an  insupportable  tyranny.  Without  intending  it,  I 
did  a  good  turn  to  the  countryside  in  another  way; 
for  when  the  Count's  estate  was  put  up  for  sale  at 
the  tribunal,  the  speculators  bought  it  up  to  sell  it 
again  in  small  holdings.  Then  the  people  of  THerm, 
of  Prisse,  and  the  other  villages  roundabout,  looked 
into  their  old  stockings,  locked  up  in  their  drawers, 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  418 

and  acquired  fields,  meadows,  woods,  vineyards,  at 
their  convenience,  paying  part  down  and  part  in  in- 
stallments. This  has  altered  the  countryside  entirely. 
For,  at  I'Herra  and  at  Prisse,  there  were  formerly 
only  two  or  three  miserable  peasant  proprietors.  All 
the  rest  were  small  farmers  and  day-workers, — all  liv- 
ing wretchedly,  without  freedom,  never  sure  of  a  mor- 
row which  depended  on  the  evil  caprices  of  the  Count 
or  the  rascality  of  Laborie  and  the  others.  The  sons 
and  grandsons  of  these  poor  people,  who  scarcely  dared 
so  much  as  to  raise  their  heads,  so  to  speak,  who 
were  as  timid  as  weasels,  so  much  had  this  cursed 
family  oppressed  them,  are  now  good  peasants,  masters 
of  their  own  land,  fearing  nothing  and  conscious  of 
being  men.  That  is  an  important  consequence;  and 
from  it  we  must  conclude  that  the  large  estate  is  the 
scourge  of  the  peasant  and  the  ruin  of  the  district. 
But  there  is  another  equally  important  consequence, — 
that  in  addition  to  ease  and  security  and  independence, 
the  disappearance  of  the  Count  has  given  the  people 
a  confidence  in  the  administration  of  justice.  Before 
this,  when  they  were  abandoned  by  the  authorities  and 
the  men  of  position  to  the  vexations  and  cruel  tyranny 
of  this  man,  they  said  as  a  body:  "There  is  no  justice 
for  the  poor!"  When  he  had  gone,  they  began  to 
be  acquainted  with  it  and  to  respect  it.  To-day,  thanks 
to  others  than  poor  Jacquou,  they  know  that  it  is  for 
every  man,  and  the  one  who  is  injured  knows  well 
how  to  make  use  of  it.  There  are  even  some  who 
make  use  of  it  too  frequently,  for  they  go  to  law  for 


414  JACQUOU  THE  REBEL 

nothing,  about  a  sheep  whose  horns  have  been  broken 
or  a  fowl  in  a  garden.  It  is  in  a  way  our  disease, 
as  the  ChevaHer  said: 

'The  Jews  ruin  themselves  at  Easter,  the  Moors  in 
marriage.  Christians  in  a  lawsuit/' 

But  at  least  our  people,  of  whom  I  speak,  are  not 
reduced,  as  they  formerly  were,  to  execute  justice 
themselves, — which  is  an  evil  thing. 

Comparison  of  the  past  with  the  present  teaches  us 
that  people  revolt  only  in  the  last  extremity,  through 
an  excess  of  misery  or  despair  at  not  being  able  to 
obtain  justice.  So  those  great  uprisings  of  peasants, 
so  common  in  former  days,  have  become  more  and 
more  rare,  and  have  finally  disappeared,  now  that  each 
one,  however  humble  he  is,  can  have  recourse  to  the 
law,  which  protects  us  all.  As  for  myself,  I  believe 
that  I  am  the  last  peasant  rebel  of  Perigord. 

A  long  life,  they  say,  does  not  diminish  one's 
troubles.  However,  as  one  can  see,  my  old  age  is  hap- 
pier than  my  youth.  The  people  of  THerm  are  almost 
proud  of  me;  and  when  people  come  to  visit  the  ruins 
of  the  chateau,  if  they  ask  some  question  or  other 
about  it,  they  are  told: 

"Old  Jacquou  will  tell  you  all  that ;  he  knows  better 
than  anybody  the  ancient  history  of  THerm  and  the 
Barade  forest;  for  he  is  the  oldest  man  in  the  region, 
and  it  is  he  that  burned  the  chateau." 

And  then  sometimes,  somebody  comes  to  question 
me,  and,  seated  on  a  great  stone,  in  the  court  full  of 


JACQUOU  THE  REBEL  416 

debris  and  overrun  with  wild  grass,  I  relate  to  them 
my  history.  One  of  these  visitors,  who  has  come  two 
or  three  times  on  purpose,  has  told  me  that  he  would 
put  it  in  writing,  just  as  I  had  related  it  to  him.  I 
don't  know  whether  he  will  do  it,  but  it's  all  the  same 
to  me.  As  I  told  him,  I  am  no  longer  at  the  age  when 
one  loves  to  hear  oneself  spoken  of. 

Thus  my  life  ends  by  flowing  smoothly,  at  peace 
with  myself,  loved  by  my  children,  esteemed  by  my 
neighbors,  possessing  the  good  will  of  everyone.  And, 
in  full  serenity  of  mind,  the  last  survivor  of  all  those 
of  my  time,  surfeited  with  days,  I  remain  alone  in 
the  night,  like  the  lantern  of  the  dead  in  the  cemetery 
of  Atur,  and  await  death. 

FINIS 


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